


The Care & Feeding of Spectres

by Aelia_D



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Het, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 32,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_D/pseuds/Aelia_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shep finds herself pursuing a Turian Janitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Shepard had set up camp in the corner of the Councilor’s office. Hadn’t even really given him a choice. She just showed up each day with her datapads and some coffee or tea, and read through the reports. Sometimes she wrote them. 

Once, he’d tried to get her to leave, and she’d just given him this  _look_  that had him scurrying out of his own office. She was generally a level-headed individual, but sometimes she had a temper. He’d dealt with the aftermath of it at least once, when she punched a reporter on a live feed. So rather than tempting fate, he just let her have it. 

It got to the point where Shepard’s absence was more noteworthy than her presence. Humans who came to speak to the ambassador often had to deal with her sarcastic commentary. They got used to it. When Shepard did things, one just  _got used to it._  

Udina wasn’t entirely pleased, but what was he going to do? 

Between Jane and Hannah, his life could be made very difficult very easily. Those Shepard women, they were a force to be reckoned with. It showed in their service records. Both of them were decorated war heroes, Jane more recently than Hannah. Though he wouldn’t call his reluctance to confront her a fear; more a  _healthy respect_  for the women. 

For her part, Jane Shepard was happily oblivious to Councilor Udina’s irritation. His office was conveniently close to the other embassies, and C-Sec was reasonably accessible. It was private enough that she didn’t have to worry about others reading confidential reports over her shoulder, and the view of the presidium was lovely from there.

As time wore on, Shepard found herself spending later and later nights in Udina’s office. It went largely unnoticed; time was sometimes strange on the Citadel, with its lack of clear days and nights, but the Presidium was the exception. On the Presidium, particularly the diplomatic areas, work began somewhere around 0900 and wrapped up by 1800, so most nights, Shepard had the room to herself.

Shepard had known it was only a matter of time before her late nights were discovered. The real question had always been who would discover her, and what would happen when they did.

One night, she found out.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t think anyone was still in here.” The surprised turian voice woke her, and she was on her feet, pistol in hand, her enemy pinned against the wall before she processed what was going on. As she finished waking, she recognized several things:  
First, it was the middle of the night. The presidium was dark and she’d fallen asleep in Udina’s office again. Second, she had bodychecked a very large turian into the wall beside the office door, and her pistol was, at present, pressed to his forehead. And finally, he was startlingly attractive for a turian.  
  
The thoughts came in rapidfire succession. Shepard flushed, and withdrew the gun, placing it back in its holster. She stepped away, and offered the turian a smile. He didn’t move. She couldn’t be sure if it was because of the initial attack, or if it was because he was anticipating another one.  
  
“Sorry,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “I don’t uh, make a habit of doing things like that, really.”   
  
He relaxed slightly, his hands dropping to his sides, his mandibles fluttering slightly as he did his best to smile reassuringly. Turian faces were different, and each turian emoted to humans differently. Sometimes she wished they were like the elcor, and then she pictured the elcor, and was grateful that they were not, in fact, elcor.   
  
She needed sleep. That much became clear to her as she realized she was mentally rambling to herself about the differences between turians and elcor.  
  
“No harm done, ma’am.” His voice was light, warm with just that hint of turian inflection. He stepped away from her, back toward his cart, which he began to push out the door. “I’ll just come back later.”  
  
“Oh, no!” Shepard interrupted him with a light hand on his arm. He froze, glanced down at it and then back at her. She pulled her hand away quickly, mentally chastising herself for not remembering that Aliens have different rules about physical contact. “Don’t let me disturb you, do what you were going to do. I’m just going to get my things and head out.”   
  
“If you’re sure,” he said, reservation clear in his voice.   
  
“Yes, please. Just do what you were going to do. I’ll be out of your way soon.” Shepard snuck some sidelong glances at him as she stuffed her things into her bag. She wasn’t positive about Alien standards, but she was fairly sure her new friend was homely by turian standards. His shoulders were a little too broad, his waist a little too thick. His hips were wide, yes, but so were his thighs, and the gap between them was too narrow to be “desirable,” if she understood the cultural readings she’d done correctly.  
  
Garrus, for example, was a known specimen of turian perfection. He was tall, his build the right balance of broad chest and slender waist. His fringe was well-groomed and of ideal length. She understood that he was attractive, could even see it herself, but... it was _Garrus_. She loved him, yes, but it was more brotherly. He was her awkward alien best friend, and he wasn’t into humans.  
  
Besides, she’d always had a thing for burly men.  
  
“I didn’t happen to catch your name...” she began.  
  
“Oh, uh, Silus Imbrex.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Silus.” Jane smiled at him as she left the room. “I’ll probably see you again soon.”


	2. Chapter 2

Back on the Normandy, Shepard collapsed into bed. She wanted to know more about Silus, but she wasn't sure how to go about finding out more without actively stalking the poor turian. It would be awkward to explain to her friends, and even more awkward to explain if he somehow caught her.

Shepard sighed, and slammed her head back against her pillows a few times, like she was trying to knock the rogue thoughts out of it. But it didn't work. She hadn't expected it to, really.

Eventually, she must have fallen asleep, because her alarm clock blaring jerked her into alertness. 0630 always came too early, even when she  _hadn't_  been up half the night thinking inappropriate thoughts about a Turian she'd just met.

"Nooo." She grumbled, rolling over and pulling her pillow over her head. But Shepard knew her duty, knew that laying in bed after the alarm went off was a luxury for someone else. She rolled out of bed, landing on the floor in a tangle of blankets. Angrily she kicked them away, and staggered over to her shower.

Post-shower, she ran a brush through her short red locks, ridding herself of the worst of the tangles. And then she was ready to go. Where, she wasn't sure. They had been cooling their heels in the Citadel spaceport for the better part of a week, waiting for their quarry to appear. They had chased a few leads already, and all of them had turned out to be wild goose chases.

In her bag were the datapads with reports she needed to read through, information she needed to process. She'd thought about contacting the Shadow Broker, but last time she'd asked Liara, her friend had simply shaken her head. There was no word.

As she brushed her hair, she read through the latest reports on her datapad. There was another victim on Omega. But they had checked there, so either someone on that cursed rock was hiding her, or she had been traveling, dodging Shepard. If she was hiding on Omega, it was unlikely Shepard would be able to get good information, she was too well known.

She messaged Liara, asking for any information about recent arrivals on Omega, hoping that would pull something up. She might get a response in a few hours, it was well into the Illium night. Was it better if the rogue had been waiting off-planet? That meant someone was feeding her information. But if she'd been on Omega the whole time, someone there was hiding her.

The whole situation was infuriating.

"Commander?" EDI's voice interrupted her thoughts, "The Council has requested your presence in the Tower."

"Tell them I'm on my way."

"Yes, Commander."

Shepard tugged on her uniform, grabbed a quick cup of cold coffee and a roll from the Normandy kitchens, and then headed out. It didn't take long for her to get to Citadel Tower. She wasn't sure what they had summoned her for, but she was fairly certain it wasn't going to be pleasant. It never was, when they wanted her there personally.

The four council members stood before her, their faces stern.

"We expect results from our Spectres," Sparatus started bluntly, always straight to the point, that one. "And it seems you have spent more time in Citadel space than out on assignment, recently."

"I have been searching for leads on my latest case." Shepard tried to keep her face neutral, but it wasn't working. She was frustrated, and she was afraid it showed. She felt the pressure to be perfect, felt the way they all watched her, predatory and in charge. Part of her understood that they only had the power that she gave them, that it didn't matter if she displayed emotion. The rest of her understood that her job was easier when she fell in line and they were inclined to work with her.

"Well while you've been searching, the rogue Asari Commando has killed  _another_ innocent!" Tevos nearly shouted it. Shepard's lips set in a thin line as she struggled to resist yelling back. She understood that it was a hot issue for the Asari Councilor, since it was her race that was misbehaving, and the Asari Commandos were supposed to be the best.

"On Omega, yes."

"If you knew she was on Omega, why are you on the Citadel?" Sparatus again. Shepard's eyes flicked back to him, found herself studying him. He was the most frustratingly blunt of the Councilors, and while she often appreciated it, right then she just wished he would shut up.

"I didn't know she was on Omega until I read the report shortly before you summoned me." Shepard resisted the urge to fidget or sigh. She wanted to grab the Councilors and shake some sense into them. "I plan on heading there right away, to see what I can find out."

"Dismissed, Shepard." Udina waved his hand in a vague and unnecessary gesture of dismissal. Shepard tried not to be insulted, but it was a difficult battle, and by the time she left the Council's presence, she was in a terrible mood.

There was an alcove not far from the Council Chamber which was fairly reliably unoccupied. It was there that Shepard went, practically stomping her way there. Once or twice, there were people who might have approached her, but took one look at her face and opted to retreat instead.

"Brilliant, Shepard," she berated herself. "Throwing a tantrum in public is a  _great_ way to represent the human race."


	3. Chapter 3

Silus is nearing the end of his double-shift, and he's looking forward to going home and sleeping when he sees her. The human from the previous night, the one he found sleeping in Councilor Udina's office. He'd been confused, but hadn't questioned it; the doors to the embassies are very well secured, and it takes proper identification to even open them. He had correctly assumed that it would be less difficult for everyone if he didn't mention it.

It hadn't taken him long- later, when he'd had time to think- to figure out that the slight woman who'd nearly killed him in her sleep was the infamous Commander Shepard. There were only so many humans with skills like that. And of those humans, even less were female. And that trademark red hair, yes, he'd figured out it was Commander Shepard fairly quickly.

Commander Shepard is legendary. She's a human war hero, and the first human Spectre. She's all over the news vids, always getting praised for some new act of heroism or another. Silus is a big fan of her work, following the news and rooting for her from a distance.

So it's strange to think that he'd actually  _met_ Commander Shepard. He dismissed their encounter as a one-off. He'd run into her by chance, and would probably never encounter her again, which was probably a good thing. If he'd  _known_  it was Commander Shepard he was talking to, he'd probably have made a bigger fool of himself.

But it's nearly the end of his shift, and he's walking through the Citadel Tower, cleaning up the mess left by an argument between the elcor ambassador and an angry hanar, and she's sitting on his favorite bench. She's slouched forward, her head cradled in her hands, and he can't resist checking on her.

"Ma'am?" He asks, trying to keep his voice steady, to avoid embarrassing himself in front of her. "Are you alright?"

Her head snaps up, her gaze levels on him. He sees a flash of surprise and anger before she visibly calms herself, her face easing into a smile.

"Silus, right?" She remembers his name? She remembers his name! He's pleasantly surprised by this revelation; he had expected that he was beneath her notice. Then he thinks about it, and realizes that she probably just knows his name so she knows who to blame if rumors about her sleeping in Councilor Udina's office start circulating.

"Yes," he hovers, unsure whether he should take a seat beside her or remain standing as he is. She seems to notice, and pats the bench beside herself. He sits. Her smile widens. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

"I'm fine, thank you." He sees through the lie, knows she's saying it because it's expected of her. He debates calling her on it, but decides to let it rest. He doesn't know her well enough to press the topic. Sure, he knows  _of_ her, she's Commander Shepard of the Normandy, she's  _legendary_. But he doesn't know  _her_ , the woman sitting beside him looking like she's had a hard day.

He catches her watching him out of the corner of her eye, and he squirms self-consciously. He wonders what she's thinking, if she's pondering how ugly he is. It's not like it matters, Shepard is so far beyond him that it's folly to even think on the topic, but he still can't help adjusting his position so she sees him from the best possible angle, the one where his waist looks trimmer, his shoulders a bit less broad.

"So," He clears his throat nervously, "Long day?"

"You could say that, yeah." She leans back, her head falling back against her shoulders, exposing the long column of smooth skin on her throat to him. It's erotic, and it's got him thinking thoughts that he has no business thinking about someone like her. He shifts his position uncomfortably, hoping she doesn't recognize signs of turian arousal.

She's got Garrus Vakarian on her ship, he tells himself. Vakarian is the galaxy's prettiest turian. If she can resist _him_  then Silus has no chance at all. It's a cold reminder, one that makes it easier to calm himself. Knowing he can't possibly stack up against Vakarian helps him to ease the ache of arousal, but it starts a different sort of ache.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He's carefully not looking at her, afraid he'll make things more awkward if he continues staring at her. He knows he won't be able to resist gawking if he lets himself look at her.

"No, but I appreciate the offer." She rises to her feet, and offers him her hand. He stares at it for a long moment before remembering the human handshake. He shakes her hand, and she laughs, maintaining a grip on him and tugging him to his feet. He's so close to her that he can smell her, a combination of human and something else. Her eyes catch his, her lips twitch knowingly, and he's so lost that he can't bear it.

And then she's stepping away, and he's reeling, trying to decide if she's messing with him or what.

"Thank you, Silus." Her smile is softer, more innocent. There's less of the predator in this smile, and he's still off balance, trying to reconcile the knowing look she's given him with the softness of this smile. "I'll see you soon, I'm sure."

And then she's walking away, and there's a twitch in her hips that has him staring in her direction long after she's gone.


	4. Chapter 4

They left for Omega that night.

Shepard took her responsibilities seriously, and for all that she wanted to stay and tease Silus, she knew she had to take care of the Asari Commando first, before she claimed more lives. She had a habit of making girls disappear, only to reappear in different systems, dead.

Shepard could see no pattern, no logic. Only madness. But that was why she had a team, and those on her team were the best.

It was Garrus who saw the pattern, Mordin who confirmed it. And it was Shepard who walked in as the bait, with Samara at her back. She literally trusted Samara with her life, and felt not an iota of doubt.

Things had gone startlingly well until the very last moments. The Asari had landed one very solid blow on Shepard, hitting the Commander in the face and sending her sprawling. It had hurt like a bitch, but on the grand scale of things, it hardly mattered. She was smart enough to be grateful that it was the worst that had happened.

As soon as they were back on the Citadel, Shepard had gone down to the Assault Battery.

"Vakarian," She'd barked. His head had popped up from the midst of the mechanisms, much like a meerkat's might have. "You. Me. Dark Star. Beers."

"Give me five minutes to wrap up this adjustment and then I'm all yours."

She grinned. From someone else, she might have taken it as a flirtation, or read some innuendo into it, but they'd long ago established that they were better partners than lovers. Shepard could trust that Garrus had her back unconditionally, and that was enough for her.

When he wasn't done five minutes later, she shrugged it off. He'd wrap up when he wrapped up, and she didn't feel like waiting any longer.

"Garrus," She heard an answering grunt, "I'm heading down. Meet me there when you're done calibrating for the night."

She heard laughter, and chose to take that as assent.

It wasn't long at all before she was comfortably seated at a table,, a micro-brew from Earth half-finished in the first few gulps. She might have downed the whole thing, but she saw a familiar bulky figure walk up to the bar. Shepard grinned. Her night had just gotten a lot more interesting.

"Silus!" She hailed him across the small space. He stiffened, and turned slowly, surprise registering on his features as he spotted her. Once she was certain she had his attention, she waved him over. As he approached, she took time to appreciate his figure in his casual-wear. It wasn't precisely standard turian clothing, but it looked good on him.

"Shepard," He nodded, and took a seat near her with only the briefest hesitation. She smiled, and rested her elbows on the table, leaning towards him. She had just opened her mouth to speak when he spotted her black eye. "Maker, what happened to you?"

"It's nothing," Shepard shrugged. She'd put on enough medigel to make it stop hurting, though it was apparently still visible. She hadn't deliberately done it, though now that she thought about it, it might help her sway the Council a bit if she appeared before them with visible injuries... She pulled her focus back to the present, and the handsome turian who was still staring at her black eye. "It happens sometimes when humans get hit in the face."

"But," he hesitated, his eyes still focused on the bruise. She took the moment to examine his face appreciatively. His eyes were green, as were his clan markings. They were a pattern she'd never seen before, a dual stripe across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and a triple-stripe down his chin. "You were hurt?"

"I got hit, but this is the worst of it." Shepard did her best to smile reassuringly before changing the topic. "Can I buy you a drink, Silus?"

He blinked rapidly at that, surprise clear. His face settled into a slow smile.

"Yes, I think I'd like that."

"Then what can I get you?" She rose from her seat, and lifted her now-empty bottle from the table.

"Anything, really."

Shepard nodded, and headed to the bar.


	5. Chapter 5

Silus is nervous as hell as he sits at the table and waits for Shepard to return. It had been about a week since the Normandy left port, and he hadn't expected to see Shepard back on the Citadel. He had come to the bar expecting to grab a few drinks, and maybe spend some time talking to a few of the regulars.  _This_  is so different from what he had expected that he's not entirely sure how to behave.

Shepard is back before he can begin to puzzle out the nuance of the situation. She places a green drink in front of him, and then slides into her seat, a brown bottle in her hand. Silus examines the bottle. It's not something he's seen before and he's not entirely sure what it is. Of course Shepard notices.

"It's a drink from Earth," she explains, lifting it and rotating it so he can see that there is a label affixed to it. "I asked them about it so many times that they've made a point of having a couple in stock for me and the other humans. I can be...  _persuasive_ , when I want something."

There's something to the way she says persuasive that has him fighting the urge to squirm in his seat. She's giving him this smile that he can't begin to decode. And then the moment passes, and she's taking another sip from that bottle, and he's fighting the urge to throw back his entire drink in one gulp.

He doesn't know much about humans, but the more time he spends around her, the more he wants to know. He wonders if all humans are like this, or if Shepard is unique, even for them.

"Do all humans drink that?" He asks, hoping to keep the conversation going.

"No, but a lot of them do," She starts to explain that it's called "beer" and that there's a lot of different varieties to it. He's making the right noises of interest, he assumes, because she keeps talking.

Then it's her turn to ask about what turians drink, and he's trying to explain it, and absolutely fumbling. While she knows a lot about her beer, he knows next to nothing about dextro alcohol. But she's teasing, and the conversation is lighthearted and entertaining, rather than humiliating.

He's sipping his drink, and just starting to relax when he sees Vakarian enter the bar. Shepard sees him too, and waves him over. Vakarian nods, and stops at the bar on the way over.

It gives Silus a moment to compose himself. He may not know about humans, but he does know about  _this_. Vakarian outranks him by so much he's not even sure how to quantify it. He's got more awards and medals than most turians will ever see, and has even turned down a few promotions. He's not sure about how this works for humans, but for turians, this can be complicated until both parties are certain of their relative rank.

"Garrus! You finished your calibrations?" She and Garrus both laugh before she turns to Silus. "Silus Imbrex, Garrus Vakarian."

Garrus nods cordially, his body language neutral. Silus tries for the same effect but feels himself failing. He's never been good at this, always the awkward man out, the one who  _almost_  has things right, but never  _quite_  gets it.

"You're a groundskeeper here, right?" Silus starts in surprise as he realizes Vakarian knows who he is. He's not sure if it's a good or bad thing, and Vakarian is still so neutral that Silus has no clues to work from.

"Janitorial, but yes, same umbrella." Vakarian nods, and passes Silus another turian-friendly drink. "Thank you."

"How did you end up on the Citadel?" Shepard asks, shifting in her seat so she can see both of them at the same time. It gives Silus a good view of the curve of her waist, and he has to work at not gawking.

"I ah-" He isn't sure how much she knows of the mandatory public service, and he doesn't want to bore her with inane details. "There are a few ways to find your niche when it's time for you to begin public service. You can voluntarily fill a role, or you can take an aptitude test if you're unsure."

Shepard is nodding, her gaze focused on him, clearly interested. It makes him feel braver. He wonders if it's always like this around her, if her crew is so unerringly loyal because she makes them feel like they  _matter_.

"I didn't want to join the military, I don't really have the stomach for that sort of thing," His gaze slants to Vakarian, "No offense."

"None taken," Vakarian nods, his interest in Silus' story as evident as Shepard's. It's a strange realization. "So you joined the sanitation division?"

"No, actually," Silus continues. "I was actually an administrator on Oma Ker for most of my service period."

"And then?" Shepard prompts, leaning forward, clearly interested.

"Well," He doesn't know how to explain, and almost wishes he'd just kept things simple. But since he's brought them to this topic, it's only right that he finish explaining. "My brother was here on the Citadel and got himself into trouble. I had hoped to intervene and steer him away from the path he was taking but..."

He lets his sentence trail off, unable to finish the statement. His brother is gone, and he can only hope that he found the peace in the afterlife that he never found while alive.

"I see." Garrus sits back. He's not saying it directly, but as he speaks, his voice is full of sympathy. "And you're still here."

"Yes," Silus can't quite look at either of them. Shepard, because he had let himself forget—if only for a minute—that she was so far out of his reach, and this conversation is a painful reminder, and Vakarian because he's not sure if he can face the empathy.

Shepard's hand is on his arm, the touch so gentle and unexpected that he finds himself staring at it instead of reacting. He notices a scar between two of her fingers, and wonders where it came from. He wants to ask, and maybe if he hasn't ruined his chance at friendship tonight, he can ask her one day.

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother," she says.

"Thank you," he manages, but it's hard. Emotion is choking him. He hasn't told anyone else about this, partially because it's personal, and partially because nobody has ever taken the time to ask.

They are silent for a long moment. He's certain he's killed the conversation for the night. Awkwardly he stands.

"I apologize for burdening you with that. I think I should go."

"No," Shepard's hand is still on his arm, but now she's holding him there. "Please, stay."

He sits. She smiles.

That is when she launches into a story about catching someone trying to smuggle "space hamsters" off a planet in their undergarments. The best part, Garrus informed him, was that it was perfectly  _legal_  to take space hamsters off that planet, but the poor fool hadn't believed her, and had tried to pretend he was  _surprised_  to find them in his underwear. In another situation, their telling the story together might have made him feel alienated, but it isn't like that. They are trying to make him laugh, and it is working.

The night wears on, and he tells them about the time he had to step in and separate two very drunk elcor who were attempting to _consummate_  their relationship on the Presidium. They laugh just as hard at that as he does.

It's late when they part ways, and as he watches them walk away, he can't help wondering if this is what it's like to have friends


	6. Chapter 6

_His talons traced a trail along her bare belly, sending shivers down her spine and making her tremble. His tongue followed the same path, hot and wet. She was shivering with desperate need, panting. And he was taking his sweet time, drawing out her torment._

_His hands parted her thighs, she felt his warm breath on her damp slit, and then he was touching her, his fingers teasing her in just the way she liked. The sensations built to a crescendo, and then she was crying out in ecstasy, her body arching up off the bed_.

Her alarm screamed at her, the buzzer getting incrementally louder as it was allowed to continue.

Shepard woke abruptly, cursing her uncomfortably vivid dreams. She was breathing hard, her heart was racing. A thin film of sweat coated her body, and she was more than a little damp between her thighs.

"Dammit," She ran her hands over her face with a low growl, chasing away the last vestiges of sleep.

Silus had gotten to her with his gentle earnestness. He was in her head, and she thought about him more than she cared to admit even to herself. And now he was in her dreams, and they were dirty and delicious, and she wanted more even as she was ashamed of them.

She thought of her dream, the way his tongue had felt, lapping at her slit. She slid her hand along her belly, imitating the way he had moved as best she could. Her fingers found her clit, and she circled it, touching herself and thinking of the way Silus had caressed her in her dream. And then she really was gasping and climaxing.

Her chest heaved, and her cheeks burned. She barely knew Silus, and here she was touching herself to her erotic dreams about him. But it was her secret, and no-one had to know.

Her immediate needs sated, Shepard rose and went to shower.

When she got out and toweled off, she glanced over at her omnitool. Sure enough, it was blinking with a message notification. Without even looking, she knew it was from Garrus. She was expecting it, almost dreading it. She knew he would have an opinion on Silus, on the events of the night before, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what it was. She had to force herself to read it.

_Come to the Assault Battery. Let's Chat. –G._

Thing was, Shepard valued Garrus' opinion, and she knew that he could offer her insight about the other turian, and about their culture. But damned if it wasn't awkward to realize that she was about to talk to her one-time crush, and best friend about another turian, one she'd been thinking about more than she cared to admit. Even if he had nothing but bad things to say though, he was her friend, and she owed him the chance to speak his piece.

She found Garrus waiting for her, his demeanor a bit too deliberately casual for comfort.

"So," Garrus leaned back against the control panel, crossed his arms, and stared at Shepard. She recognized the look, and prepared herself for the worst. "Imbrex?"

"Yes?" She perched in her usual place, and quirked a brow at him. If this conversation was going to happen, and it was going to be as bad as she was beginning to fear it would be, she'd damn well make him do the work for it.

"Had some run-ins with his brother back when I was still C-Sec. He was  _bad_  news. His name was Lurco, and he was your standard troublemaker at first. But he got worse as time went on, and the simple drug problems became kidnapping, racketeering, there were a few homicides that were likely his doing... but we could never pin anything on him. He was one of the most frustrating, because I _knew_ what he'd done, and he knew we couldn't touch him.

"I only ran into Silus Imbrex once, toward the... end. I don't know what happened between them, but not long before he died, Lurco turned things around. Or... started to.

"He was working with C-Sec to bring down some of the worst from his ring, and we'd brought a few of them in when someone got wise to what he was doing and... killed him to keep him quiet.

"But that good he did? That was his brother's doing."

It was a lot to process, and Shepard found herself blinking slowly at Garrus. Was he telling her to go for Silus? Because that's what she was getting out of this conversation. It genuinely sounded like he was trying to encourage her by telling her that Silus was a good man. But she could have told him that already. She frowned, trying to discover a hidden meaning to the story.

"Look, Shepard," Garrus continued, making a face that she couldn't entirely comprehend. "To another turian, Silus is about as homely as they come... but I get a feeling that for you it's not about that."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Shepard couldn't quite meet Garrus' eyes as she spoke. He snorted, and she felt her lips twitch. "Alright, you caught me. I don't care about turian standards. He's been nothing but kind and polite to me, he's not in my chain of command, and I'm really,  _really_ hoping he's interested in me, too."

"I can't tell you anything for sure. He was very careful to keep everything under wraps once I got there," Garrus shrugged, and Shepard frowned.

"Explain?"

"Turians use a combination of body language, subvocals, and pheremones to communicate," Shepard nodded, her research had told her as much. Some noises turians made were in the human range, most were either too high or low in frequency. The flanging in their voice was a side effect of that. And humans... couldn't consciously analyze pheromones, not the way most alien races seemed to. Body language was different enough that it took effort to learn. After a brief pause, Garrus continued, "But Silus was... not broadcasting, which takes quite a bit of control, and sometimes gives away as much as it hides."

"So... you have no direct insight, but based on the fact that he  _wasn't_  broadcasting, he felt there was something to hide about his interaction with me..." Shepard smiled as the implications hit her. "Which means that it's likely he  _is_ interested..."

"Shepard," Garrus warned, "You can't be sure about that, and you need to be... careful. Turian relationships aren't like human relationships."

"I know, Garrus."

"I don't think you do, Shepard. But I'm going to let you learn. If you want help, or if you need it, you only have to say the word." Garrus didn't quite smile, but his voice was gentle. "Be careful. Take things slow and be sure this is what you really want."

Part of her wanted to be angry at how presumptuous he was being, assuming that she didn't know what she was doing. But he wasn't doing it out of malice. No, this was well-intentioned, if misguided. She wondered if this sort of caring meddling was what having siblings was like.

She swallowed back the retorts that sprung to the tip of her tongue, and instead made herself focus on the fact that Garrus genuinely meant well. He was as good as his word, and would be there if she needed him. And if he turned out to be right, and this all went to hell, he would be there to pick up the pieces because that's what friends are for.

"I will Garrus. Thank you."

She left him then, a lot on her mind.

For all that she wanted to pretend otherwise, Shepard realized that she really wasn't prepared for the nuance of a turian relationship. Their whole social system was  _literally_ alien to her, and she was incredibly unprepared. But there was an incredible amount of information available on the extranet if she just looked for it.

But she also had a job. Two jobs, really. Her full time role as a Commander in the Alliance Marine Corps, and her full time role as a Council Spectre. She was insane for thinking that she would find time to research turian customs and seduce a Citadel janitor. But then, Shepard was known for being insane.

It was sort of her thing.


	7. Chapter 7

Shepard was back in her old haunt, lurking in the corner of Udina's office and attempting to make sense of the latest intel from the Hawking Eta cluster. There was a strange transmission emanating from one of the planets, and the scout who had sent in the report had gone missing.

The scout was, of course, Alliance, so the Counsel didn't care what happened. Out in the Attican Traverse, they had a strict non-involvement policy, so she would be walking a fine line between acting with the privileges granted a Spectre and the responsibilities of Alliance military. She always hated this part.

Politics were something better left to the politicians, but in a lot of ways she was learning that with each new promotion came a new layer of political expectation. She didn't  _want_ to walk this path. She  _wanted_  to find her niche; a place where she had the necessary authority to do what she needed and not one iota more. But that wasn't how things worked with the Counsel  _or_  the Alliance.

The door chimed, and slid open.

Silus! Shepard's stomach fluttered as she realized that it was late enough for the janitorial staff to be cleaning offices. If she'd been thinking about it, she might have done something more than just waving her brush at her hair, might have actually bothered with eyeliner, instead of a quick swipe of the mascara wand and some gloss.

The figure that entered the room, however, was distinctly not-turian. Shepard bit back a sigh. On the one hand, she was grateful that Silus wasn't going to see her at less than her best yet, but on the other hand, she'd actually been  _excited_  at the idea of seeing him, and she was more than a little disappointed.

"Oh, hello," She said. The asari janitor jumped, and guiltily removed a small earpiece. Shepard suppressed a laugh, realizing that she'd just caught the asari breaking code and listening to music while working.

"I apologize for disturbing you," The asari prepared to leave, but Shepard stopped her.

"Wait," Shepard took a breath, steeled herself for a moment of extraordinary personal risk, and spoke. "What can you tell me about Silus Imbrex?"

The asari cocked her head, her lips pursed, and she seemed to be taking measure of Shepard. Or perhaps deciding what she could safely say. She couldn't know what the asari was thinking.

"It's alright, I'm a Spectre, but he's not in trouble." It was true, of course, but the fact that she was a Spectre shouldn't have been important. Shepard had learned, however, that mentioning her status as a Spectre often did two things. It got people to talk when they probably shouldn't, but it also raised people's awareness of who she was, and that was not always ideal. Especially at times like this, when she should really have tried to be more subtle.

"Well, he's my supervisor," the asari said. "He just got promoted, actually. Now I've got his old zone, and he's got desk work."

"Really? Was it a step up for you, too?" Shepard bit back the urge to pry, and tried to resist saying anything that would come back to haunt her later. She wanted to know, but knew nothing of this asari or her relationship with Silus, and wasn't willing to risk more humiliation than she had just by bringing him up.

"Yes. I used to clean the Lower Wards," she made a face of disgust. Having been to the seedier parts of the wards, Shepard had some sympathy. But not much, considering that she'd seen Omega, and clearly this asari hadn't. "This is… much nicer."

"I'm sure. Do you know where I could find Imbrex?" Shepard hadn't actually intended to ask, had meant to play it cool, but her mouth was a few seconds faster than her brain.

"Sure. Could you mention that I did a fabulous job? He's the one who controls where we work, and I'd really like to stay here," she said as she punched the directions into Shepard's datapad.

"Absolutely. Keep up the good work, and thanks."

Fifteen minutes later she was standing outside an apartment, scowling at it. The asari had given her directions to Silus'  _house_ , not his  _office_. It was her fault for not being more specific, sure, but why did she know where Silus  _lived_  and why had she given it to Shepard so easily?

There were more questions than answers, but she had come this far, and she wasn't going to back out now. No. She would see this through 'till the bitter end. At least, that's what she told herself as she pressed the buzzer for his apartment.

As she waited for him to open the door, every moment felt like an eternity.


	8. Chapter 8

****

"Shepard?" Silus is not surprised that he has a visitor, but he  _is_  surprised to find that it is Shepard standing on his doorstep. He'd gotten a message just a few minutes ago:

_Sepctre asking about you. Sent her to your house. ETA ?_

Silus had mentally run through all the possible reasons that a Spectre might be asking about him, and not once had it occurred to him that it might be  _Shepard_  looking for him.

He can't help the sigh of relief that escapes him. Nor can he help the fluttering in his stomach as he realizes that she's  _here_ , on his doorstep. He's staring at her for what he suddenly realizes is an awkwardly long time, but she's got this smile on her face that he's fairly sure is amused.

"I, ah," He stumbles over the words at first. "Did you want to come in?"

"If you don't mind," She's still smiling. Her voice is warm and soft, and so very human. He used to think that human voices were strange, flat. But then he'd met her, and he'd listened to her speak, and all he'd been able to think about was how nice she had sounded.

He steps out of the way, realizing that he's standing in the center of his doorway, and his bulk is blocking her from entering. She brushes against him, and he catches the scent of her—soft, human, floral—before he closes the door. He takes the moment to catch his breath.

He's never had a female in his home before. Alright, he's never had  _anyone_  in his home before who isn't family, or a close friend of the family. It's got him fighting the urge to straighten up. There are some bits and pieces sitting out that he'd have put away if he'd thought about it, but it's only now that there's someone in his space that he remembers they're sitting out.

"Wow," Shepard says, and he's about to apologize for the mess when she continues. "Your apartment is so neat."

"Oh," He wants to argue with her, to point out the bits and pieces of machinery all over what was supposed to be the dining table but what is really more of a workbench. He wants to gesture to the datapad sitting on the desk beside his personal station, still scrolling with the latest news from home. He wonders about humans, about what  _their_ homes must be like if this is clean to her. "Thank you?"

"What's this?" She asks, leaning over and examining the bits all over his table. He's afforded a very nice view of her rear when she does so, and he has to remember to keep breathing. He's fighting to resist staring or hovering or fussing with things that he is intensely aware are out of place now that there is someone else here.

"It's ah," He takes a breath, calms himself, and then answers her question. "I'm trying to repair and upgrade one of the automated sweepers."

"Oh?" She's looking at it, and reaches out to touch something before visibly catching herself and hesitating. She glances back at him. "May I?"

"Go ahead," he says, watching as she picks up one of the fussier bits and turns it over in her hands. "Been having trouble with that one. The bolt bent, and I can't get it—"

She fiddles with it for a moment, and then it's in separate pieces, and he's picking his jaw up off the floor. Is there anything Shepard  _can't_  do? She looks at him, and her smile is just so… so… he doesn't even have the words for what he's feeling right that moment. He's dizzy and nervous and excited and he's trying not to do anything stupid, and it's a little overwhelming.

"Silus," her voice is deeper than usual, a bit rough. He wonders if that means the same thing for humans as it does for turians. And then her hand is hovering mere millimeters from his mandible. His eyes hold hers for a moment, and he hopes that this is what he thinks it is, and he's not completely misreading this situation. He leans into her hand, she shivers, and then she's moving forward, and their bodies are touching.

He's having trouble remembering to breathe, and he's praying to all the spirits that might be listening that this is real, and it's not some cruel joke, or a dream. He brings a shaky hand up and touches her cheek as well. He can't help running his thumb along her soft skin. It's better than he's dared to imagined, soft, smooth, warm.

She leans into his hand, rubs her cheek on him.

"Shepard," his voice is shaky. He's having trouble believing that this is really happening.

"Jane," she says.

"Jane," he agrees.

When she presses her mouth against him, he's not entirely sure what to do. It's pleasant, but alien to him. The hand that is not on her cheek finds the narrow part of her waist, and holds her close, and she's moving so her arms are draped over her shoulders, and her fingers are… ah. His brain nearly stops working when her fingers find the tender spot at the base of his neck. He gasps, and she freezes.

"That was—" She's turning pink, and her face is uncertain. "Was that bad?"

"No," Silus takes the moment to step back a bit. It felt amazing, and that's part of the problem. He doesn't want to rush things or ruin them. He doesn't really know what relationships are like for them, or much about how this works. It's a hard dose of reality, and it's difficult to step back, but he does. "That was good, very good but…"

"But you're not interested?" Her lips turn down, and her hands fall to her sides.

"No." He realizes what he's said and scrambles to correct himself. "I mean yes. I  _am_ interested. But I don't want to… rush things. Whatever those things might be."

"Alright," she says. She's smiling again, and there are these little wrinkles in the skin along the bridge of her nose and at the corners of her eyes. "We'll acknowledge that we're both inexperienced at this, and we'll take it slowly."

He nods.

"Well," She glances around his apartment, her eyes settle on his couch, which faces a vid-player. "I can leave, or… we can order some takeout—since I doubt you have levo food just sitting around—and watch a movie?"

"I've got the new one about the Asari Commando?" He offers.

"Sounds great." She smiles, and they settle in.


	9. Chapter 9

About halfway through the movie, when the food had been consumed, and the empty takeout containers littered the table, Shepard got the courage to try holding Silus' hand. He jumped, and looked at her, but his fingers curled around hers. It was strange, and her five fingers didn't mesh with his three the same way she was used to, but they found a comfortable position.

Shepard was not used to the idea of courting someone slowly, but it was sort of nice to take the time to relish something like hand-holding. She smiled at him, and when she saw him smile back—something she was learning to recognize in his face was his unique smile—she dared to rest her head on his shoulder. She  _liked_  his shoulders, for all that they were considered unattractive.

When Silus didn't move away, or shift uncomfortably, Shepard let herself relax. She was warm, well fed, and in good company. It was a nice feeling, and for the moment at least, she was content. Her mind was only partially on the movie, and if asked, she probably wouldn't have been able to tell you a damn thing that had happened in it. But that was alright, because she was enjoying her time anyway.

* * *

Beep.

Beep beep beep.

Beep. Beep.

Beep.

The chiming of her omnitool woke her. A series of messages, received in rapid succession. She blinked wearily and fumbled for it on her bedside table. Her hand found empty air. Shepard sat up abruptly, suddenly wide awake.

She wasn't on the Normandy.

Fuck.

 _She wasn't on the Normandy_.

She was on Silus' couch, still clothed in what she had been wearing the night before. Her shoes were on the floor, her pistol on the table, surrounded by the remains of their takeout. So was her omnitool. She had been covered with a soft blanket, and her head rested on a small pillow. They smelled faintly of Silus. She resisted the urge to sniff them, instead rising and grabbing her omnitool to check the time.

0240.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

She scrabbled around for her belongings. When she was pretty sure she had everything, she scribbled a quick note on a sheet of paper and left it where Silus should find it. She made a mental note to send him a message at a sane hour of the morning, and then departed.

They were leaving at 0500 for a mission, and wouldn't be back for a few days. She would miss him, but maybe it would make it all the sweeter to see him again. She didn't know. She'd never tried anything like this before. No slow courtship, no sustained relationships. It hadn't seemed worth it before.

She believed in flings. Quick fucks born from mutual need. Not deliberate and careful seductions. Those were for people who knew they would live to see another day. People who had reasonable expectation of seeing their loved ones again. Shepard's life was too dangerous to drag someone else into it. She was the only human Spectre, and the Captain of an experimental ship which existed for the sole purpose of going on dangerous missions.

Yet here she was. Trying to have a relationship with a turian from the citadel. Dragging him into the disaster she called her life. But she was tired of being alone, and it was nice to have someone to come back to. She wondered if that was why people did things like get married and have children. Because having someone waiting for you to come home gave you something to live for.

Was she really selfish enough to ask that of him? To ask him to wait for her? She needed to decide that soon, because at this point, they could walk away, and it might hurt, but they would move on eventually. Later though, when they'd had time to get truly attached, when things got serious, it would be different.

She tore her thoughts away from that, and tried to focus on the messages that had woken her. Six from Garrus, all in rapid succession. A single letter apiece. He had been trying to wake her with the beeping. The last was from Joker.

_Commander, get back to the ship ASAP. Hawking Eta situation has changed._

It was from four minutes ago. She messaged him back quickly.

_En route. ETA 5 min._

She didn't bother looking to see if she got a response, just found the closest rapid transit terminal and hauled ass back to the Normandy.

"Commander!" Joker's voice chimed over the intercom as soon as she was in the airlock. "We've received another transmission. There's a hostage situation at a research facility, and we need to get there and intervene ASAP."

"Set a course, Joker."

"Aye aye, Ma'am." As the interior doors shut behind her, she heard his voice from the cockpit. "Walk of shame, eh Commander?"

"Stuff it, Joker." She grumbled.

He cackled. She went to get what sleep she could before they arrived at their destination.


	10. Chapter 10

J. Shepard: I'm sorry I disappeared like that. I was called away on business.  
S. Imbrex: It's alright. I found your note.  
J. Shepard: Oh, I'm glad. I was worried it would get lost in the mess.  
S. Imbrex: No, I found it. But you need to work on your penmanship.  
J. Shepard: Was it that bad?  
S. Imbrex: My translator couldn't read it.  
J. Shepard: Oh.  
S. Imbrex: I sorted it out eventually. Thank you for trying.  
J. Shepard: Has anyone ever told you that you're too nice?  
S. Imbrex: I believe you would be the first.

S. Imbrex: I'm not sure how you managed it, but I'm pretty sure I found one of your socks under my couch.  
J. Shepard: So  _that's_  where it went. I was in such a rush to get back to the ship...  
S. Imbrex: I can have it delivered?  
J. Shepard: No. I'll come get it. And I'll bring dinner?  
S. Imbrex: Sounds great.

J. Shepard: Do you remember that time I told you about the space-hamster smuggler?  
S. Imbrex: Yes.  
J. Shepard: You'll never believe who I just ran into on a supply stop.  
S. Imbrex: Hamster-pants?  
J. Shepard: Oh god. Yes. Why did you call him that? I'm trying not to laugh and he's looking at me.  
S. Imbrex: You're messaging me while he's still there?  
J. Shepard: Attached Image  
S. Imbrex: Surprisingly normal looking for a crazy hamster smuggler.  
J. Shepard: Until he opens his mouth.  
J. Shepard: Attached Soundclip  
S. Imbrex: Oh. Wow. The hamster overlords, huh? Coming from space?  
J. Shepard: So you'd better watch your underwear!  
J. Shepard: Oh. He's noticed me. Gotta run. Message you later.

S. Imbrex: You were in the news here on the Citadel today.  
J. Shepard: Really? What for?  
S. Imbrex: Locating a missing ship out in the Hawking Eta.  
J. Shepard: Yes, I located it. Didn't exactly mean to. It was more incidental, but I guess less classified than the alternative story.  
S. Imbrex: Incidental or not, I'm impressed.

S. Imbrex: How are you today?  
J. Shepard: Things are quiet. We may be wrapping up here and heading home soon.  
S. Imbrex: So you took down the bad guys?  
J. Shepard: In a manner of speaking. How about you?  
S. Imbrex: Oh, you know me. Fighting crime one mess at a time.  
J. Shepard: That should be your catch phrase. Super-Janiturian.  
S. Imbrex: That pun was terrible. You should be ashamed of yourself.  
J. Shepard: No, it was just too brilliant for you to comprehend, obviously.

J. Shepard: So how are you today?  
S. Imbrex: No disasters to report on.  
J. Shepard: Not how's work. How are you?  
S. Imbrex: I'm alright.  
J. Shepard: Can I admit I miss you without making you too uncomfortable?  
S. Imbrex: ...  
S. Imbrex: Yes.  
J. Shepard: I miss you.  
S. Imbrex: I miss you, too.  
S. Imbrex: Be safe.  
J. Shepard: I'll try.

J. Shepard: It looks like we have to make a detour on the way back to the Citadel.  
S. Imbrex: Any idea how long that's going to take?  
J. Shepard: No. I can't say much, but it's not too dangerous, relatively speaking.  
S. Imbrex: Make sure you get back here in one piece.  
J. Shepard: I'll do my best.  
S. Imbrex: And hurry back. I miss you.  
J. Shepard: I miss you, too.


	11. Chapter 11

It was fourteen days from the night she rushed out of his apartment until she returned to the Citadel. Fourteen days of stolen moments to message him, of laughing at the silly things he said. Of finding excuses to call him a Janiturian until he threatened to stop responding. They both knew he didn't mean it, but she did ease off a bit after that.

The mission had been brutal, and there had been a few civilian losses. She felt personally responsible for those, but she couldn't talk about it. Not even to Silus. Not over an insecure connection, anyway. Garrus... understood, but his sense of responsibility was different. He was able to look at the grand scheme and see that they had saved hundreds. All she could see were the four that had died.

Then there had been another mission, a "by the way, since you're in the area" and a diplomatic escort, and by the end of it all she and the rest of her crew were in dire need of shore leave. So Shepard put in the necessary paperwork to ensure that they would not be the first ship called, and gave everyone some R&R time.

And then she picked up some takeout, and headed to Silus' house.

She pressed the buzzer at the door, heard some movement, and then he was standing there, a look of surprise on his face.

"You're back?" He grinned, caught her hand, and tugged her into the apartment. As soon as the door shut behind them, he pulled her into an embrace. It was unexpected, and she took a moment to melt into it. He tucked her head under his chin before nuzzling the top of her head and ruffling her hair.

"I'm back." She pulled away slowly, just enough to look up at him. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

It might have been an idyllic moment, but her stomach began grumbling loudly. He let go of her then, reluctantly.

"I brought food," she said, holding up the takeout bag as an offering. He went to grab utensils as she set it on the table and flopped on the couch. "But if you want any, it's going to cost you."

"Oh?" He paused in the middle of setting the utensils down, and glanced up at her. Her stomach did flips. She was pretty sure turians were crazy if they didn't think he was attractive.

"Yes. It will cost you one human sock." She tried to say so with authority.

"Oh!" He disappeared through a door on the far side of the room, and returned shortly, a small white piece of fabric in his hand. "Here. I uh... washed it for you?"

She couldn't stop the grin that caught her then. He did her laundry for her. Sure, it was only one sock, but, he'd done that. For her. And he seemed so very uncertain about it. It was sweet.

"Thank you," She said. He smiled, and she imagined that were he human, his face would have been the vibrant red of a thorough blush. He was just so damned adorable she couldn't bear it. She reached out and took the sock, setting it down on the corner of the table. Her pistol joined it.

He hovered indecisively, still smiling at her.

"You gonna sit?" She patted the couch, and he quickly joined her.

"What did you bring?" He asked, eyeing the bag of takeout warily.

"It's this place that does its best imitation of Thai food from earth..." she said, passing him the box that was marked for him. He opened it and examined the contents.

"I can't speak for it personally, but Tali tells me it's very tasty."

"Tali?"

"A quarian friend."

"Ah." He poked at it. Brought a bite to his lips. "Hm. Yeah, that is pretty tasty."

"Good." She demolished her share. His disappeared almost as rapidly. When the food was gone, there was a pause before they looked at each other. He flipped on the vid screen, and they stared at it in silence for a moment before she spoke.

"Can we…" She hesitated, not wanting to push things too fast, but knowing what she wanted. "Can we snuggle?"

"I think I'd like that," he said, opening his arms. She scooted over, and nearly crawled into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, and she tucked her head under his chin. They relaxed that way, just enjoying the moment.


	12. Chapter 12

Silus is sitting there with Shepard in his lap and he's doing his best to not. freak. out. She's soft and she's warm and she smells so good but he's so nervous with someone being this close, and he's not sure where to put his hands. He vaguely remembers that waist-touching is not the same thing for humans as it is for turians, so he lets himself place one hand there. His other hand rests on top of it, almost awkwardly.

She sighs, and he rests his chin upon her head. She just fits under his chin, tucked in like that. He realizes that Commander Shepard, first Human Spectre, and pride of the Alliance is a small woman. At least in stature. He's seen her in action, watched vids of her, and has seen her fell people more than double her size. It's strange that she's this short. But he's grateful, because it means he can feel her silken hair against his cheek as he shifts so they're both comfortable.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He's pretty sure that's what this is about. She's on the quiet and contemplative side, especially compared to how much they've been talking recently. He hadn't expected her to be this quiet, and it's strange to think that maybe she feels more comfortable talking to him over the 'net than she does in person.

"I don't know." She shifts, and one of her arms is draped across his shoulders, and her face is close to his. He can't help it. He presses his forehead against hers, and she leans into it, and he has to wonder if it means anything remotely similar to humans. But she just feels so  _nice_ when she's close like this, and he doesn't want the moment to end.

But it has to, because there is something bothering her, and he wants to help her make it better. He pulls back slightly, and catches her eyes.

"I'm here for you either way."

She smiles slightly, but her lips are wobbling, and her eyes seem too shiny. He considers pressing the issue, but he doesn't want to ruin this moment, and he really does understand. There are things in his past that he will never speak of. Things he can't speak of. But that isn't what this moment is about. Instead it is about her.

"I lost four." She says, and it takes a moment for it to register. "They were civilians, and we were sent to save them, and four of them... I couldn't save them..." The shine in her eyes resolves itself into moisture sliding down her face, and then she's looking away and furtively wiping her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I don't-" She's fumbling, and he guesses that she means she doesn't display this sort of emotion often.

"Jane," He says, using her name as she's asked him. "It's alright. I won't tell anyone."

"Nobody would believe you. Commander Shepard doesn't have  _feelings_." She laughs a little, but her heart isn't entirely in it, and its sound is harsh in his ears.

"Doesn't she?"

"Dammit," She curses, but as with her laugh the words and her tone don't quite mesh up. "You're not supposed to be this sweet and insightful."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Her hand slides along his mandible, and then her eyes are on his mouth, and he's looking at the little speckles of color across the bridge of her nose. Her lips press against his mouth in a human kiss, and he does his best to make his mouth work with her.

Her hand is sliding across his shoulders, and it's brushing the back of his neck. She's keeping her distance from his fringe, and he's both grateful for and frustrated by the care she's taking to avoid that area. Part of him wants an excuse to take this further, and part of him is grateful that she's working so hard to be considerate of him.

 _He's_ the one who wants to take this slow, after all. But humans are so different from anything he knows that he needs things to move slowly just so he has a chance of keeping up. He's never been in a relationship before. Not with his own species—he's too big, too broad, too everything for them—and certainly not with any other species. Until Shepard.

He has a feeling, though, that she could have anyone she wants if she puts her mind to it, which leaves him wondering. Why me? But there are no answers. And he's not entirely sure he cares. She just feels so nice in his arms. Her lips trace along his mandible, a series of light kisses.

"Jane," her name is more of a moan as it leaves his mouth. He's grateful she can't hear his subvocals, because they're off the charts. He  _wants_ her, and it's this heavy ache in his groin.

Silus reminds himself that he wanted her last time, too. When she'd held his hand he'd been so nervous, and then she'd rested with her head on his shoulder. He'd been afraid to move, and then he had realized she'd fallen asleep on him. He'd tucked her in, had made sure that she was as comfortable as he knew how to make her, and then he'd given her his closest approximation of a human kiss. She'd smiled in her sleep, and his heart had melted a little.

But now, she's awake, and she's so close, and he just wants to... but he can't. He shouldn't. He still doesn't know enough about human physiology. He'd probably hurt her. But she smells so good and he just wants to...

She's looking at him, and her lips quirk into a smaller version of her predatory smile. Her moment of weakness is gone, and now what's left is... sexy as hell. Her fingers trace along the side of his neck, and the ache in his groin intensifies. He must make a noise, because her smile widens.

"Silus," she whispers, his name breathy as it escapes her. His hands are stroking her waist in a way that would be downright obscene on another turian, but she doesn't seem aware of that. She shifts, so she's straddling him, and her knees are digging into the couch on either side of his thighs. His hands find her ass, and he's surprised at how soft it is. Humans are so soft, and yet, he knows how strong they are, too.

Her lips find the side of his neck, and he reflexively tilts his head to bare it to her. Her teeth drag along the tender skin there, and he makes another noise that has her freezing.

"Is that good?" She asks.

He swallows, hard. Trying to find enough breath to speak. "Yeah. It is."

"Okay," she says, and does it again, and this time he feels his fingers digging into her ass. She makes a small noise, and grinds against him, and he nearly loses it.

She's breathing hard when she pulls back.

"Silus, if you don't want this to go farther tonight, we need to... stop."

"I-" he hesitates. "I don't know."

"I like you a lot, Silus," Her hands cup his face, and she holds his eyes as she speaks. "But I don't want to rush things. You wanted to take things slow, and I want you to be  _sure_ you want more before we take that step."

He swallows hard, nods. She smiles a little, and places a small kiss upon his lips before moving away from him. He can smell their arousal,  _both_ of them want more, but she's right, and he's still not certain. She's in the kitchen, cleaning up the remains of their dinner, and it's so simple and domestic it makes him ache in a different way.

The thing is, he likes Jane. He likes her a lot and he wants whatever  _this_ is to work. Wants to make sure they know what they're doing before they get too intimate. Because as he understands it, their races are fundamentally incompatible; their protein structures are different, and he doesn't want either of them dying.

It's not just that, though. He wants  _more_  than sex from this. He wants  _her_ , and that thought terrifies him. He's never dared to want anything in his life, so it stands to reason that when he finally does, he picks something just this side of impossible.

She rounds the couch, smiles at him, and settles in beside him. She flips stations on the vid-player, until they find some Batarian gameshow that has them both laughing. The tension eases, and he just enjoys her company.

"Thank you," she says finally. "For listening."

The rest of the evening passes more quietly, and just before she leaves, she gives him one more lingering kiss, and he runs his fingers through her hair. She sighs and leans into him for a moment before she draws back.

"Tomorrow, are you free for lunch?"

"I can make time."

"Alright, meet me at Apollo's Cafe at noon?"

"I can't wait."

He watches her go, and as the elevator doors close, he realizes he's just agreed to go on a date. With Shepard. In Public. Oh spirits what has he done?


	13. Chapter 13

Silus is nervous, pacing his office and having trouble focusing on the task at hand. He _needs_ to finish coordinating this weeks' schedules and ensure that appropriate personnel are assigned to take care of the cleanup after the Elcor Ambassador's party. He doesn't even remember what the party is for, he's so nervous, and excited.

The minutes seem to crawl by, and it's only 11:45 when he leaves for lunch. His assistant smiles pleasantly and doesn't comment on the deviation from his regular habits. Generally it's all but impossible to pry him from his office during working hours; he eats there, and works through lunch almost every day. But he's so excited he doesn't even care what his assistant thinks.

He's at the Presidium Commons far too soon, and he makes himself slow down before he gets to the Apollo Cafe. He wants to be there on time, but to be there too early is just  _pathetic_ and he doesn't want Jane to think he's got nothing else to do.

But who is he kidding? He may have responsibilities, but none of them feel as important as she does, especially when she smiles at him.

He's pacing and arguing with himself over the merits of being early vs on time vs late when he hears the whispers.

"Can you  _get_ any uglier?"

He stills, and a second person shushes the first before they break into whispered giggles. He doesn't care who's said it. He's heard it all before. That and worse. But it reminds him that he hasn't been out in public with Shepard before. He wants to spare her this shame.

A small hand slides into his, and he jumps and spins. It's Jane, and she's beaming up at him. He can't help smiling back—well, the turian equivalent, which is a bit of mandible-gesturing and a bit of mouth movement—but she seems to get the message, because her smile widens.

"What is a hottie like  _her_  doing with someone as ugly as  _him?_ " It's that same voice from before. He sees the moment Shepard's smile locks in place.

He places a hand on her arm, tries to placate her. To tell her with his face that it's okay, he doesn't mind. It's true. But she's furious. She squeezes his hand, then drops it and turns to find that the people talking are asari.  _Of course they are,_ he thinks.

Shepard walks over to them, that smile still on her face, but her eyes glittering dangerously.

"Excuse me, I didn't quite catch that." She says. The asari blanches.

"I ah- Uh-" she stutters.

"Nothing to say now that you're saying it to someone's face, huh?" She steps close, and Silus is vacillating between intervening and letting this play out. He's never had someone stand up for him before, and it's sweet, but letting Shepard pulverize the asari just for being rude will put quite a damper on their lunch.

"She's sorry," the second asari interrupts, tugging her friend back and away from Shepard.

"Is she though? I want her to apologize to my boyfriend.  _He's_ the one she insulted."

Silus is so shocked by the use of the word 'boyfriend' that he doesn't even hear the asari's apology. He just nods as he thinks might be appropriate, and then the asari scurry away. He's still a little dazed when Shep-  _Jane_ tugs on his hand. His focus on her when she smiles up at him sheepishly.

"I'm sorry if I was out of line but..."

He brings her hand to his mouth and does his best to kiss her fingers the way she kissed his before. She quiets, and her cheeks get pink. He reminds himself to explore this reaction later. He wonders what  _else_ he can do to make her flush like that. She's got a wicked smile back on her face, like she understands what he's thinking about.

"Let's go eat, handsome." She says, and she's so genuine that he knows his neck has gone a little blue from his own blushing.

He doesn't know whether others have seen how Jane reacted to the asari's insults, or if the people in this area are just better mannered, but he doesn't here even a single whispered remark about the pair of them eating lunch together. They keep their conversation light, nothing memorable, and later he probably won't be able to remember much more than how happy she looks, and how the artificial sun glints on her hair.

His lunch hour winds to a close, and he finds himself messaging his assistant, telling her he'll be back a bit late. She replies with a simple "Yes, sir" and he doesn't have to worry about it. Instead he enjoys the last few minutes of company, all the sweeter because they're stolen moments.

"Silus," Jane says before they part ways. "I have to go on another mission. This one is more covert, and I won't be able to transmit anything except via secure channels. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Oh," His heart sinks.

"I want you to know that I will be thinking of you every moment, and I will be back as soon as I can." She draws them into a more private corner of the area. Her hands clasp his arms, just above his elbows, as she tugs him closer. His hands linger on her hips, and he brings his forehead down and presses it against hers.

They close their eyes and just take a moment to be together. He tries to memorize her scent. It's hard to describe. She smells human, yes, but there's something about her that's just  _Jane_. It mingles with the floral scent of what he thinks from her bathing, and sometimes the scent of gun-oil. But it's  _her_  smell, and that's what matters to him.

One of her hands leaves his sleeve, and slides along the side of his face. He opens his eyes, and sees something in her gaze that makes his stomach flutter. And then she's pressing her lips against his for one last kiss before she steps away.

"I'll miss you," he says. She presses her lips together, and nods. Her eyes sparkle with what he now knows are unshed tears. There's something she's not saying, and he's afraid to ask what it is. And then she's turning and quickly walking away. She doesn't look back. It's like a part of him is leaving with her, and he doesn't know how he'll even begin to bear it.

He'll be counting the minutes until she comes back.

With a heavier heart, he returns to work, hoping to lose himself in the business of running Citadel maintenance so he doesn't miss her quite so much.


	14. Chapter 14

When he answers the door some weeks later, and Garrus is the one standing outside it, he knows something has gone horribly wrong. The other turian is not in good shape. He's been patched up, and it's clear that he should be getting medical attention.

"I had to tell you myself," Garrus says, and his subvocals tell Silus everything he needs to know. He feels faint. "She's... gone. Presumed KIA."

"What happened?" Silus chokes out.

"We were ambushed on a ground mission," Garrus has something in his hands. Silus is afraid to look at it, but he does. It's a holo of the two of them that he didn't even realize she'd taken. But he's looking at her, and she's smiling at him, and they look so _happy_  that he can't bear to look at it. "She..." Garrus can't quite choke out the words. "She was giving us cover, and then she was gone. There was nothing we could do."

Silus can't listen to anymore. He's trying to process this, and he just can't. His mind keeps going sideways. Garrus is still standing there, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.

"Look," He says finally. "I know... she cared about you a lot." The past tense hurts. It's a physical pain and he can't quite bear it. Garrus seems to understand this, and continues. "I uh... brought something."

Garrus produces a bottle of liquor, and Silus eyes it. He's tempted. Sorely tempted to drink until he can't remember a damn thing about her. So maybe it hurts less. And Garrus... he's her friend. She'd want them to mourn together, right?

"Alright," Silus says finally.

It's somewhere around the third or fourth shot that they begin talking about her. Garrus tells him some ridiculous stories. The sort she'd never tell anyone. But she's gone, and it makes them both miss her less. They pretend she'll come walking in at any moment to berate them for  _daring_  to talk about her bawdier and more embarrassing missions.

Halfway through the bottle, they're singing turian funeral songs. And at the end, they're both slouched on the couch somewhere between blissful numbness and all-out stupor.

The next morning is somehow worse. To wake and find the artificial sun shining, and realize that life is continuing as normal for thousands of people. But not him. No. He misses her too much.

Garrus is still asleep on his couch. He leaves him there. Goes to work.

It's tempting to take a "sick day," but he thinks that if he takes the downtime, the pain will really catch up with him. It's like this part of him is gone, and he just can't cope with its absence.

Work is... terrible. He's hungover. He's exhausted. He's angry at everything and nothing and he snaps at things which generally don't bother him. But he gets through the day, and heads home.

Garrus is on the couch still, staring blankly at something on the vid player.

"Hey," he manages.

"Hey."

In another situation he might mind having the other turian camping on his couch. But right now, he needs someone. He blindly fumbles through making dinner for two. Just something simple. Protein and grains. But it's food. They eat it in silence.

"What now?" Silus finally asks.

"I don't know." Garrus replies. "I'm on a mandatory leave pending psychological evaluation."

"And then?"

"I don't know." Garrus slumps, holds his head in his hands. "She was more than my captain. She was my friend."

"I know." Silus pats the other turian's back, a gesture he's picked up from watching too many human vids, he thinks. Garrus doesn't flinch away though, so he lets his hand rest there. "She considered you a friend, too."

"She was—" Garrus' voice broke. "She was happier after she met you than I'd seen her in a long time. If nothing else, know that. You made her happy."

Silus is too choked up to speak.

They sit in silence for a while, watching whatever's on the vid screen. Or staring at it, since neither of them are really focusing on that.

"Thank you," Silus says finally. "For being here for me."

"A friend of..." Garrus begins, pauses, continues. "A friend of Shepard's is a friend of mine."


	15. Chapter 15

She woke with a scream, or what might have been one if her voice had worked. And pain. Intense pain that had her trying to curl in on herself. But she couldn’t move. She was strapped down to something. Concerned human faces peered down at her.   
  
“She’s awake.” A male voice spoke, somewhere above her head.  
  
She tried to speak, but all she could do was make this pathetic croaking noise.   
  
“Hold still, Commander,” the voice ordered. But she couldn’t hold still. She  _hurt_  and she didn’t know where she was. The last thing she remembered, she was being swarmed by those  _things_. She’d gotten Garrus and Vega onto the shuttle. She remembered that much. Then she’d been overwhelmed.  
  
So why was she here? Where  _was_  here? She tried to process the pain. Tried to do _anything_. A cool hand pressed against her forehead. A salarian. He smiled, placed something to her neck, and then everything faded away.  
  
  
An indeterminate amount of time passed. She woke again, this time without the pain. Without the screaming. She was still strapped to a table in what appeared to be a medical facility. She tested the restraints. Strong. Enough so that she was effectively incapacitated.   
  
She took stock of her surroundings. Neutral. Sterile. No insignia anywhere. Not a good sign. She wondered if she was in a legitimate hospital, or if some covert ops group had grabbed her. Hard to say from what she could see, and that made her wary.   
  
A door opened, somewhere she couldn’t see it. Footsteps approached.  
  
“Commander,” The male salarian again. He inclined his head to her. “Good to see you’re awake.”  
  
She tried to speak, but her voice was still a croak. The words couldn’t come.   
  
“Relax, Commander. We’re trying to heal you, but there was a lot of damage done to your body.” The salarian sounded genuine, but then, they generally did. Though Mordin had told her they were poor liars. So either he was a good liar, or he was telling her the truth. It was a strange thing to contemplate. “Need to put you under again. You can’t be awake. It slows the process.”  
  
His hand, gentle upon her forehead once more. Something against her neck. And then blissful darkness.  
  
  
Reality hit her hard as she woke again. This time there were observers. A salarian. Humans. An asari. They eyed her cautiously. She eyed them right back. This didn’t make sense.  
  
“Try to move, Commander.” The salarian, the same one who had been there the other times hovered close by. She tried to move her arm.  
  
She stared at her hand. Wiggled her fingers.  
  
“Ah. Good. Yes.” The salarian nodded. “Subject can move of own volition.” A human made notes on a datapad.   
  
“Where am I?” Her voice worked this time. She felt a surge of triumph.  
  
“Classified.” The salarian replied.  
  
“How long have I been here?”  
  
“Six months.”  
  
“What?” She couldn’t believe it. She’d been here  _six months_?! She doubted they’d told anyone she was alive. Not if it was “classified” that she was here. She worried about Silus. About Garrus. About her entire crew. What were they doing without her? How were they holding up?  
  
“Had to repair large segments of your body.” The salarian spoke brusquely, like he couldn’t believe she was asking. “It was half eaten when we got you.”  
  
“Eaten?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Fuck.” She said. “Why don’t I remember that?”  
  
“You were dead.”  
  
“WHAT?!” She sat bolt upright at that one. The Salarian pressed her back onto the hospital bed. The human still tapped away at the datapad.

“A... benefactor was interested in helping you.” She didn’t like the sound of that. If she’d really been dead then this had to have been expensive. Doubtless this benefactor was not some selfless being. She was sure there were strings attached. “Said to repair you at any cost.”   
  
“And?”   
  
“We did.”  
  
“Who is  _We_?” she asked.   
  
“My team. Top scientists. Specifics Classified.”   
  
“Of course.” Shepard wanted to scream. “Who was the benefactor?”  
  
“Anonymous.”   
  
“You repaired me at the whim of an  _anonymous_  benefactor?”   
  
“Paid up front. Seemed... irrelevant.”  
  
“So,” Shepard sat up slowly. “Can I go then?”  
  
“Just a few more tests. Then we’ll release you.”  
  
Shepard settled in, prepared to endure those tests for the sake of getting the hell out of this place. Whatever this place was. And then she’d get Liara to use her contacts to figure out who her “Anonymous Benefactor” had been to have a little chat.  
  
Because she was certain there were strings. And she was certain she would  _not_ be tolerating that nonsense. She had more important things to do.


	16. Chapter 16

It’s late one night and Garrus is camped on Silus’ couch again. And by  _again_  he thinks he means that Garrus hasn’t left for more than a few hours at a time in all the months since she—he can’t think it. But Garrus is still here, and Silus just can’t find it in himself to mind. He’s grateful for the companionship. He thinks if he were left alone—if _either_  of them were left alone—the magnitude of her absence would overwhelm them.   
  
Garrus is working for C-Sec again. It’s probationary, but it’s  _something_  to keep him from wearing a dent in Silus’ couch cushions. Meanwhile Garrus has filled out the paperwork to be considered for Spectre candidacy again. Because Shepard encouraged him to, and he feels like it’s only right to  _try_. For her. Silus agrees, and is guilty of perhaps leaving the paperwork about the Spectre training out in plain view.  
  
He can’t take sole credit, but he can feel proud of himself for nudging one of Palaven’s most promising soldiers in the right direction. It’s the sort of thing he does, finding people the right place to use their talents. It was why he was an administrator. Why they had been upset that he was leaving. Why they were to this day offering him his job back.  
  
Silus is nearing thirty, the point when mandatory public service ends, and any further public service is a matter of personal choice. But he is a turian, and he has every intention of continuing to serve in whatever capacity he can. He had thought before she—the thought is too painful to bear and his brain goes sideways.  
  
He’s back on Garrus. Trying to figure out how he can help the other turian. Because she’d want him to do that. And now that he’s getting to know Garrus,  _he_  wants to do that.  
  
“Hey,” he says, noting that Garrus has found his latest project, and the pieces of it are scattered across what had really been intended to be a dining table.   
  
“Hey,” Garrus responds, his attention still on the fragment of what had originally been an automated aid for the groundskeepers. It was intended to help the gardeners tend for the plants, but it had malfunctioned. Wilihierax—one of the Groundskeepers—had brought it by, asking him to take a look since he’s known for his ability to fix machinery.  
  
His reputation has faded, somewhat, now that Garrus has begun ‘calibrating’ the items. The others are in awe of Vakarian’s work, but Silus just can’t quite find it in himself to feel jealous. He wants to, and recognizes that even a few months ago he would have been envious of Garrus’ newfound popularity with his staff. But now it just doesn’t seem to matter.  
  
“Have you eaten?” He asks. He knows the answer. Knows he wouldn’t even remember to ask except that he’s set his omnitool to ping around proper mealtimes. It reminds him that he is supposed to care. He’s supposed to feel things like hunger. But food is tasteless, and he has trouble wanting to eat. He hardly recognizes the signs of hunger sometimes.   
  
At some point, he’d created a daily schedule for himself. Wake up. Shower. Eat. Work. Eat. Work. Home. Eat. Sleep. It’s all scheduled, and sometimes he wonders how much of it is actually about reminding him, and how much of it is conditioning. Mostly though, he just obeys the chimes.  
  
He knows Garrus has noticed, and wonders how much the other turian has come to rely upon him remembering.

Before Garrus responds, the doorbell rings. They both perk up, and almost immediately their shoulders slump. It’s almost humorous. Silus answers the door.  
  
“Is Vakarian here?” He’s human. Brunette. In Alliance Uniform. Broad shouldered. Silus wonders if she’s his type. Or if he is hers. Was hers. It’s hard to remember to use past-tense. What does it matter, though? In the end, she’d chosen Silus. He knows she saw  _something_  in him. Something that made her turn to him instead of any of these others.   
  
“Alenko?” Garrus’ voice registers surprise. He knows this human, but wasn’t expecting to see him, not unless there’s news. Garrus’ body language and subvocals tell Silus so much more than the single word could have. He wonders how humans get by without them.  
  
Silus steps out of the human’s way, allows him to enter. He acknowledges Silus with a nod, then steps in.  
  
“They recovered her omnitool.” The human voice is almost flat, his tone subdued.  
  
“Why are you telling me?” Bewildered. Irritated. Hopeful. Silus hears it all.  
  
“She listed you as her... contact.” Alenko’s eyes slide to Silus. He  _knows_  that Silus is her--  _was_  her—he can’t say it. Even in his thoughts. There is no anger, despite the fact that with every moment Silus is more certain that Alenko was in love with his Jane. There is only sadness.   
  
Alenko reaches into his satchel, and pulls out a box. He’s supposed to hand it to Garrus. They all know that’s what protocol says. But instead, he offers it to Silus.  
  
He reaches out. Takes it.   
  
He’s afraid to open it. But he does.   
  
It’s shaped like her hand, five-fingered and all, but it’s deflated, diminished. He can almost picture her hand in it. He has certainly seen its orange projection often enough. He knows she took the holo from it. The one he never knew she’d taken. The one that sits, inactive, on his night-stand. He can’t bear to look at it, but he also can’t bear to put it away. And now he has this.   
  
He wonders if he can ever have enough pieces of her, of her life, to put her back together. To fill the void.   
  
He touches it. Gently. But she’s not in it, and there’s nothing he can learn from it. Still, he lifts it, feels the miniscule weight of it in his palm. It was hers, and that means something.  
  
At some point Alenko and Garrus leave. To give him privacy. He might have thanked them, but they are long gone before he realizes they have left, and he is alone.   
  
Alone but for the earthly remains of Commander Jane Shepard.  
  
 _The world is diminished without you, my love._


	17. Chapter 17

When Jane finally reached the Citadel, she had been “dead” for a year.  
  
Six months of rebuilding. Two months as a lab-rat, doing “tests” for the scientists. Four months of glorified hitch-hiking across the damned Galaxy. Because while her “benefactor” was generous to rebuild her, he was  _not_  generous enough to actually give her the credits necessary to survive on. Or maybe he had been—she was somehow convinced it was a he—but the scientists had taken the money.   
  
She didn’t like them. Didn’t like that they did what they’d done against her will. She was only partially human. Only partially  _organic_. There were bits and pieces of her that they’d outright replaced with machinery or experimental bits. She looked at herself in the mirror, and while her exterior was alright, and she  _looked_  the same, she knew she was not. She was only barely human, and she was afraid of the ramifications.  
  
How could she  _explain_  that? She couldn’t. She was afraid to. But she had obligations. Duties. Needs. She  _needed_  to see Silus again, and she couldn’t if she didn’t reclaim herself. Reclaim her identity. Spirits but she missed him. She couldn’t contact him. She didn’t have her Omni-tool—hers had apparently been  _eaten_  along with her arm—didn’t know his address. Couldn’t look it up. They wouldn’t let her on the extranet, citing it as “risky.” They’d reminded her that her presence here was “classified” until she’d run their tests.  
  
They’d given her a manual. A user’s guide to her own damn body. It was all on a datapad, and the information was backed up in a chip they’d given her. She hadn’t been able to read it yet. She couldn’t focus. Couldn’t stomach the fact that she wasn’t human. She was afraid of what she might find about herself.  
  
She’d vowed to find Mordin. To get him to examine her, and make sure that they hadn’t done anything  _funny_  with her. That she was still herself and there wasn’t anyone else in her brain.   
  
But there were more important things. Like getting home. Back to the Citadel. Back to _Silus._  She missed him so bad it was a physical pain. Added to that was the difficulty of hitch-hiking across the galaxy. Some people had just given her a ride outright, out of charity. Others had made her work for it. One had tried to get her to pay with her body. She’d hurt him just enough to drive her lesson home.  
  
Four months of endless work and begging had left her exhausted. She was bone tired, dirty, and sore in places she didn’t remember being sore before her “benefactor” had her rebuilt. On the worst days, she swore that she would find him—whoever he was—and she would make him pay for doing this for her. But she had to get home first. Back to the Citadel.  
  
Then she would find Silus, and she would kiss him silly and tell him just how much she  _loved_  him, and his big, broad, un-turian shoulders. And his muscles, the ones his race were not supposed to have. And his face. And his laugh. And every part of him. She would touch him, and he would hold her close, and then they would do the things she had been focusing on. She needed him. Needed that light at the end of this all to keep her going.  
  
She hadn’t understood it before. But she did now. Why the others had had wives, lovers. People to come home to. It had seemed selfish before. It did still, in a way. But she needed him like she needed air. It kept her alive. Kept her fighting to survive long enough to see him again.

She thought of Silus whenever it was quiet, and she was safe enough to let her mind wander. He was her last thought at night. Her first in the morning. When she dreamed, he was part of those, too.  
  
More often though, she had nightmares about her death. She would wake, covered in sweat, sometimes screaming. She would fight, desperately, as only someone who knows they are about to die would. She tried to escape, to survive. But the outcome was inevitable, because they were as much flashbacks as they were nightmares. Again and again she relived her own death.   
  
But she was here. On the Citadel. Finally. She had to check in with C-Sec security, where they established that she was not, in fact, actually dead. There might have been more, but she’d given the desk-jockey this  _look_  that had sent him scurrying to his superior.   
  
Mere minutes later, she was thanking the rough-edged human for his assistance and leaving. She tried not to run. Tried to resist the urge to sprint to the rapid transit and get to Silus.   
  
It didn’t work. People stared, but she didn’t care.   
  
There was someone waiting for her. Someone who thought she was  _dead_ , and she had to remedy that ASAP.  
  
She stood outside his apartment for the span of several breaths as she tried to calm herself. This was a good thing. She missed him. Desperately. Shepard took a deep breath to calm herself before she pressed the buzzer. She heard it, and then the sounds of someone sliding a chair across the floor before coming her way. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited in anticipation.  
  
The door opened. A human male stood there, scowling down at her. Her heart stopped. He eyed her blearily, the day’s stubble heavy on his cheeks. He smelled of guns and alcohol. A thug, or a mercenary. She wasn’t sure.  
  
“I’m... looking for Silus Imbrex? He used to live here?”  
  
“Well, he doesn’t anymore. Get lost.” He started to shut the door, but she wedged her foot in, and stopped him.  
  
“Do you know where he went?” It was hard to get the words out. She had a bad feeling about this man. About his presence in Silus’ apartment. She’s fighting back the emotions. Anger. Panic. Fear. Disappointment. They’re threatening to overwhelm her. She tries to keep them in check, and nearly succeeds.  
  
“No. Don’t know. Don’t care.” He eyed her, his gaze raking over her body. Smirked. “You’re a nice piece of ass though. I’m sure I could make you just as happy as this Imbrex can.”  
  
That was when she hit him. A solid fist to the face. She felt the bones in her hand scream as she landed the blow, but it didn’t matter. How  _dare_  he imply that she was some easy lay. That he was somehow Silus’ equal. She saw red. She tackled him, sent him sprawling on the floor and hit him again. She was on top of him, her knees grinding into his arms, holding him prone.  
  
“Where. Is. He.”   
  
“Fuck You.” He growled. His face was bloody, his nose probably broken. She didn’t even have to hit him, just poked the area which was rapidly changing color. “I don’t know a damn thing, you crazy bitch. Ask the fucking manager. First floor.”   
  
“There. Was that so hard?” She asked, getting off him.   
  
“Fuck you.” He repeated, as he struggled to get up. She caught his feet with a well-placed kick. Sent him sprawling. He cursed as she walked away.  
  
She just laughed. There were more important things to deal with. She was going to find Silus, dammit.


	18. Chapter 18

Shepard never made it to the manager's office.

As the elevator doors opened, Shepard was very neatly flanked by two C-Sec officers. A third stood before her. Turian. White markings. She eyed him, trying to decide if she'd met him before.

"You've been reported for assault, miss. We're going to have to ask you to come with us." It wasn't a question, and none one of them pretended it was. She calculated the odds. She could probably escape them. But not without fatalities. And ultimately she would be working against her own cause by doing so. She  _did_  need to connect with the Council and the Alliance, and she hadn't done herself any service by coming here first. She hadn't been able to resist though.

"I was under the impression that Spectres operated outside the law." Shepard stated as she walked between them, behaving nonchalantly, as if it were of her own accord. She kept her face carefully neutral. There were few witnesses; most people were out or at work and wouldn't be home for hours. She supposed she should be grateful for that. She didn't really need her face plastered all over the news vids for assaulting someone in their own home.

"Yes, they are." The human on her right spoke. He didn't look at her, his eyes stayed forward, but she was certain he knew exactly what she was doing. Peripheral vision, useful thing, that.

"But you are not a Spectre." The turian on her left finished the statement. She wondered how long they must have been working together to finish each other's thoughts so smoothly.

"Yes, I am." She informed them. She had a feeling that the turian leading their little group wasn't normally with the other two, and she wondered why he was with them.

"Alright then, ma'am.  _If_  you are who you say you are, then they'll have no problem sorting this all out at the office." White-face spoke. She eyed his back. He was fairly impressively muscled for a turian, but was still smaller than Silus.

Shepard sighed. She had to focus. It hadn't been so difficult before, and she wasn't sure what had changed. She had thought about him before, but he had never dominated her thoughts like he had recently. She wondered what that was. If it was normal, or if it was a "side effect." She wished she'd read the damn manual.

They brought her to one of the interrogation rooms and left her.

After an eternity had passed, she was greeted by the sight of a rather grim Admiral Anderson and Councilor Udina.

"Shepard," Udina greeted her, sounding crankier than usual. She hadn't known it was possible, but it seemed he liked her even less now than he had previously. Then again, she had this habit of landing headaches in his lap, and the dead Human Spectre turning up not-dead was sure to be the biggest headache yet.

"Udina," she acknowledged him, then turned to his companion. "Admiral Anderson"

"Shepard," Anderson was restrained. Distant. He was pacing, not quite meeting her eyes. Clenching and un-clenching his fists. He wasn't happy, and that was perhaps one of the best signals that things were not going to go well for her. She steeled herself for whatever was to come. Reminded herself that it was probably even deserved.

"Would you care to explain how and why you were gone for an entire year—presumed KIA—before you  _waltzed_ back onto the Citadel without contacting  _anyone_?!" Udina's voice was only a hair quieter than an all out shout.

"I tried," Shepard stated, refusing to let the Counselor's anger ruffle her. "I approached no less than four different Alliance outposts and attempted to make contact.  _Apparently_  there were enough people pretending to be me that they assumed I was another imitation."

"That's only part of the answer." Udina was in a fine temper. She understood, to a degree. He was a politician, and her coming back from the dead had complicated his life in ways he had not been able to plan for. Part of why he was so good at his job was that he often thought several steps ahead in many directions. She recognized that, and realized that a high profile person such as herself returning from the "dead" was likely so far from the realm of possibility that he didn't even have a general plan of attack.

It made him uncomfortable. And when he was uncomfortable, he was angry. But just because she recognized it didn't mean she had to like it.

"I was... resurrected by a team of scientists." Before either of them could interrupt, she powered on. "I do not know who they were. The project was financed by an unknown "benefator." And I was unable to get further information out of them. There was a salarian, and several humans. Shortly after my release, I made what notes I could on names, descriptions, things I could remember. It's on a data-chip, in my bag. I'll get it for you when we're done talking.

"At the end of the project, when they had deemed me  _functional_  they dropped me at a port, and I was on my own. I did what I could to get back to the Citadel. It is difficult to travel or contact anyone with no assets and no omnitool. I made contact via other means one other time, but the transmission was rejected at the Alliance end due to it being insecure."

"Give me specifics, Shepard." Udina said.

"I logged specifics on that data chip," Shepard glanced at her bag, sitting on a nearby table. "It's in there. Am I allowed to grab it?"

Udina rolled his eyes, then gestured to her bag. She took that as permission enough. Anderson took it from her, murmured into his radio, and handed it off to someone at the door. Doubtless they were scanning it for hostile programs, traps, tricks. Then looking at the information she'd given them. But information had value, and she hoped that this information was worth enough.

Several minutes passed in awkward silence as she eyed Udina. She wondered if perhaps this whole situation would be less painful if she'd made more of a point to avoid angering him in the past. He could have been a very powerful ally, and still could be, if she just played the proper figurehead like he wanted her to. But she wasn't like that. She couldn't be the ideal Marine all the time. She winced as she realized that today was a perfect example of her screwing up.

If she'd just checked in immediately with the Alliance or the Council, then they would not be doubting her. Or, they would be, but their doubt would not be so... severe. As it stood, they were questioning everything about her. Her existence, her loyalty, everything. She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Tried to focus on the fact that she was here, now, and her cooperation could be the difference between having the Alliance make her disappear, and her triumphant "return."

Anderson's hand drifted up to the earpiece. She was certain someone was looking into the veracity of her statements. After a few moments, he caught Udina's eye and nodded.

"We have more to talk about, Shepard." Udina said.

Of course they did. Shepard sighed, and settled in for a long conversation.

Over the course of the next several hours, she explained herself more than once, and each time it seemed that Udina or Anderson had new questions for her. She did her best to answer what she could, but toward the end they were getting so repetitive she was having to bite her tongue to resist sarcasm or something equally detrimental to her cause. She had to be on her best behavior. If she ever wanted to leave this building, or whatever prison they designed for her, she had to convince them they could trust her. That her loyalty was still with them.

"You understand, of course, that we'll have to do full medical and psychiatric evaluations before we can even consider releasing you, let alone reinstating you." Udina's words were a statement. Not a question. "I speak for both the Council and the Alliance when I say that our response to what you have told us today are entirely dependent upon what our doctors find."

"Yes." She was tired. She was hungry. She had been  _grilled_  about things she did not know for so long that she did not trust herself to say more.

Apparently content, Udina took his leave. Shepard sighed, and allowed herself to sag just the slightest bit before her gaze slanted to the observation window and she caught herself. She could not show weakness. She knew they were watching, just waiting for her to slip up. It was so very tempting to just relax, to let her guard down and trust that things would get better. But she couldn't be sure of that.

She wasn't sure if it was simply because they were done with her, or if it was because someone had seen her moment of weakness and taken pity on her, but it wasn't long before the door opened once more. A different C-Sec officer entered, carrying a tray with some simple food. She tried not to eat too quickly, but she only just managed to slow down enough to not be sick. It had been  _hours_  since she'd last eaten, and _months_  since she'd last eaten something that appealed to a human palate.

Meals had been infrequent, quality often questionable. She'd made a point of eating enough to survive, and when it had been more than merely 'edible' she'd often done what she could to stash some. But this was actually  _good_. When she'd finished the first tray, the door opened again.

Vega and Alenko. She smiled. It was nice to see a friendly face. Or—she thought guiltily of Anderson—one who was  _allowed_  to be a friendly face at this juncture.

"Lola! You're alive!" Vega wrapped her in a hug before catching himself and stepping back. He coughed, and ended up doing an awkward half-salute before remembering she was not officially in Alliance at present. She couldn't help the smile that tugged her lips up. It was nice to see a friendly face.

"Shepard," Alenko was more professional, but she could tell he was glad to see her, in his own way. He held a tray, and on it was more food. "I'm... glad you're alright. I brought you this. Thought you might be hungry."

She took the tray, and ate more slowly this time. Fresh fruit. Vegetables that had never been dehydrated or frozen. A sandwich that held recognizable components that hadn't come out of a can. And water. Fresh water that didn't taste of poorly maintained filtration systems or questionable materials.

"So?" She asked after a few big bites of sandwich. "What now?" The men glanced at each other awkwardly. She wanted to sigh, but bit it back. "You here to take me somewhere?" She finally prompted.

"Ah... yes. Once you're done eating, we're to take you to an Alliance facility." Alenko spoke, looking ill at ease. She understood. Wanted to tell him that, but she really couldn't without enlightening him as to how bad a job he was actually doing at maintaining his facade.

"Alright." She said after eating the last bite. "I'll behave. Lead the way."

It wasn't a long trip, but even so, Shepard ended up sleeping through the shuttle ride. She was so tired. It had been exhausting keeping her guard up constantly for all those months. She knew that now that she was in the Alliance's hands she was safe from being murdered in her sleep, and she could relax her guard some.

"Shepard," Alenko's hand on her shoulder woke her. "We're here."

"Right," she said as she finished waking.

"Let's go, Lola." Vega and Alenko flanked her once more. An additional pair of armed guards stepped in behind them. She understood that she was considered dangerous, even when armed, but this seemed _excessive._  Yes she had biotics, but she wasn't going to use them.  _They don't know that. They're not even sure what's in your brain._ You're _not even sure what's in your brain._  A small voice in the back of her mind whispered to her.

Shepard shoved that thought aside, instead choosing to focus on the present. Ahead was the lab, and there they would poke and prod her until they were satisfied she was what she said she was, and that there were no extra  _bits_  in there anywhere.

They entered the lab. The room was exactly what she had expected from a medical research laboratory. Tools and equipment spread throughout the room. A cluster of human doctors and scientists, all wearing the traditional white lab-coats. And... she blinked, looked again.  _Mordin?_

"Shepard." He said. She grinned. Mordin. "Alliance contacted me. Needed consultant. Contractor. Only one reason they would want me. No. Two reasons. Glad it was you."

"Admiral Anderson felt he would be exceptionally well-suited," Alenko said. "And that you would be more willing to work with Mordin than any other scientist."

"Well, he was right." Shepard stepped into the room. Looked at the salarian. "Alright, let's get this party started."


	19. Chapter 19

The physical evaluation took about a week, even with Mordin working at what he assured Shepard was top-speed. He'd poked and prodded her so much that she was certain he knew every inch of her body as well as—if not better—than she did herself.

As he waited for test results, he read the monster of a manual they'd given her. Occasionally, the things he read inspired new tests. Some of them sillier than others. He had her sniff things. Taste things. Listen to things. He'd frown, and make notes, and then have her do something else. It all seemed nonsensical and unrelated, and she wondered if it would be more comprehensible if she'd bothered to read the manual.

Knowing Mordin, probably not.

She tried to convince them to let her contact someone. She was informed that her presence was classified until they were certain she was herself. She tried to persuade Mordin to contact Silus or Garrus for her. He'd given her this look that spoke volumes as he informed her that it would be cruel to get their hopes up until they were certain she could be released. That had silenced her for a while.

He was right, but it still stung. She'd anticipated finding an ally in Mordin. But he always had taken the job seriously. She simultaneously wished he was willing to bend to her will and was grateful that he would not. He was absolutely right about not contacting anyone outside the facility, not wanting news to leak, or anyone's hopes to get up. She knew it, and yet... she wished that she could speak to Silus. To tell him not to miss her. That she was coming for him.

"Shepard," Mordin said one afternoon as he was scanning her once more. "Need to talk about certain changes to physiology. Certain parts… replaced. Olfactory, Aural, Digestive, Endocrine, and Nervous systems all… adjusted. Biotics upgraded."

"What?" Shepard blinked, one brow quirked. "I haven't noticed anything different."

"Brain hasn't caught up with different body." Mordin paused the scan, pulled up an image of her brain. "Highlighted areas still learning to use new senses."

"So what does that mean for me?" She had a suspicion. A bad one.

"Given time, body will learn. New abilities. New functions. Faster reflexes. Better hearing. Better smell. Ability to eat anything. Stronger biotics. Many benefits possible. Require further testing. And time."

"How much time?"

"Hard to say. Aural senses already stronger. Olfactory improving." Mordin gestured at various sections of her brain, highlighted different colors on the scan. She tried to understand. And once again, she found herself wishing she had bothered to read the manual.

"Did they change anything else?" She asked, feeling sick to her stomach. This was bad. She understood, of course, that there had been some changes. But she hadn't even begun to guess at the scale of the changes, and it was dizzying as she tried to consider the implications of what Mordin was suggesting. She was afraid of what he might say, afraid of what else he might have found and he wasn't mentioning.

"No. Brain is still yours. No physical control devices present. Psychiatric evaluation will reveal any conditioning or training."

"Alright. So can we get that started?" Shepard asked. She wasn't eager to have anyone poking at her mind, but she needed answers. The sort that Mordin didn't have. Answers about herself. And once she had those answers, and she was certain she was not putting him at risk by going to him, she had a turian to find.

"Yes. Started some already. More when psychiatrist arrives on-station. Soon. Tomorrow?" Mordin was busy poking at the scanner. Shepard tried not to fidget. She didn't want some stranger asking her personal questions.

"Not you?"

"No. Specialty is biological. Not mental. Limited to preliminary observations." Mordin's fingers flew over the console, pressing buttons and poking at things rapidly. "Have work to do. Need to focus."

She settled in to wait, knowing that she was unlikely to get further information from Mordin. There was more testing, more poking and prodding. She was tired of feeling like a lab rat, or an experiment. So far though, at least assuming Mordin was right, there really wasn't anything dangerous in her. As the afternoon dragged on and he continued poking and prodding at her with little regard for her feelings, Shepard began to resent everyone and everything she'd encountered in the last months.

That night, she read the manual.

They'd adjusted her. Replaced bits. Changed things all over. She really had been designed to be a super-soldier. She wondered why they had done it. Who had paid them? There were far more questions than answers, though at least she had one important one. They'd added and replaced lots of bits, but her mind was still- near as she could tell- her own.

In the morning, she was escorted to a room that was not the lab. One she had not seen before, though it was still clearly part of the medical facility. She sat, and tried not to fidget as she waited for the arrival of the head-doctor. Psychiatrist. Whatever they were called. She wasn't eager to find herself in the hot-seat, but she knew she wanted the answers as bad as the Alliance did. Maybe more. It was her brain after all.

Once they had some answers, she could go find Silus. She was tired of waiting for her chance; she wanted to see him now. They weren't letting her contact the outside world, and nobody would contact him for her. She was trying to be patient, but it was difficult. They were holding her indefinitely, and nobody could know she was alive, and she just wanted to talk to him. To let him know that he should wait for her, because she was afraid he would move on without her.

"Shepard," The voice was crisp and professional, and had her perking up instantly. She knew that voice.

"Chakwas!" She greeted her friend with a hug. The doctor smiled. "You're a head-doctor?"

"Actually, yes. I am licensed as a psychiatrist," Chakwas said. "And I have some experience with neurology, so they have asked me to do a full evaluation."

"Alright," Shepard said, reclaiming her seat as Chakwas took the chair across from her. "Let's do this then."

Over the next several days, Shepard spent many hours working with Chakwas. Answering questions and talking about things, occasionally submitting to yet another neural scan. Chakwas took copious notes, and Shepard had to actively fight to resist the urge to peer at what the doctor was writing. She was both curious and afraid of what she might find if she looked.

So instead she focused on behaving herself, and giving Chakwas good answers. She told herself that the better she behaved, the more likely the Alliance was to let her go sooner. Though with each passing day that gentle lie became harder and harder to believe.

Soon. She would see him soon. She just had to get through this. That mantra was sometimes all that kept her going, but it was enough. She would see him soon.

Soon.

When soon was finally upon her some weeks later, Shepard could hardly believe it. She'd spent so long waiting for this moment that she wondered if she had finally cracked and was hallucinating the whole thing.

She pinched herself, subtly on the thigh.

No, it was definitely real, and Vega really was standing in front of her with her N-7 uniform folded neatly in his huge hands. He smiled at her, and handed it to her. On top rested some newly-minted dogtags. She ran her fingers along the chain, felt the familiar weight of it against her fingers, and smiled.

He gestured to an empty room nearby. She tugged on the familiar fabric, appreciating the weight of her belt upon her hips, the feel of the uniform settled her, calmed her. She hadn't realized how lostthis whole situation had made her feel until the moment when she finished lacing her boot and stood. It was like finding herself once more.

She felt steady. Secure. She was ready for this. There was more to do. There would be some paperwork, and she needed to secure credits and transport, but compared to the months of waiting she had already endured, it was nothing.

She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders to loosen them, and strode back into the corridor. Vega saluted. She nodded in acknowledgement. Anderson awaited them at the end of the corridor.

"Welcome back, Commander Shepard." Anderson said. She saluted. "You'll be pleased to hear that I have made arrangements for you to take control of the Normandy SR-2 as soon as we have finalized everything here."

A slow smile spread across her face. Her 'soon' had come, and it was time to find Silus.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Four Months Earlier_ **

The dishes from dinner have been deposited in the sink, and the two turians have settled into what has become their routine. Garrus is fiddling with his guns at the dining table. Silus has brought home some paperwork and it is scattered across the coffee table. There's an old war documentary on the vid screen, and they're both half-watching it. Not quite paying enough attention to really tell you what war it's about, but the entire purpose is the background noise.

It's quietly domestic and relaxed, and though the pain has started to ebb, and it's no longer so sharp, they're both still seeking comfort from proximity. Silus still can't bring himself to look at the holo of them again. He wants to, sometimes, when he worries that he might begin to forget the line of her jaw, the curve of her lips. And then he closes his eyes and she's there.

She wasn't even in his life that long, but it's this bright, shining time, and her absence is an almost tangible hole in him.

He's staring blankly at the datapad in front of him. He's pretty sure he's read the same sentence a half dozen times, and the words are all starting to run together. It doesn't mean much right now, and he wishes he'd just left it at work. It's not so important that he had to bring it home. He brought it home on purpose, though. To fill the quiet of the evening. To give him something to think about, something to focus on.

He's dragging his mind back to the presence when he hears Garrus' omnitool go wild. Ping after ping. Garrus' attention is immediately on it, and Silus' attention is, too. He pauses the movie and turns to look at Garrus, waiting for an explanation.

"So?" Silus prompts after what feels like a long enough period of time.

"Hm." Garrus pauses, his hand still hovering over the Omni-tool. "Don't take this the wrong way. Hear me out."

"Okay," Silus says hesitantly. Garrus hears it, and tries to give him a reassuring look, but it falls short.

"Shepard and I are, were, friends with a person... with a lot of contacts." Garrus is carefully clamping down on his subvocals, trying to stay neutral, and it has Silus squinting at him, trying to see what he cannot hear. "I asked them to uh... look into what happened to your brother."

"What?" Silus isn't sure how to respond to this. He's admittedly a little irritated that Garrus is prying into his past without consulting him first, but the fact that Garrus is bringing it up at all means that he's found something. Or his contact has.

"When I was with C-Sec, I was on his case, as you may remember." Silus nods vaguely. Yes, Vakarian was on the case. He remembers him now. He'd been younger, more eager, and he'd been taken off the case when it had become clear he was a little too apt to get emotionally invested in the assignment. "Well, I passed along the information I could get to my... friend. And they found a lead on the men who killed your brother."

Silus isn't sure what to say. He's known for a long time that his brother was killed for taking his story to C-Sec, for helping take down criminals. But he's never truly entertained the idea of avenging his brother. It's... he's not a soldier.

Every turian learns basic military skills. It's part of the education system. Preparation for mandatory public service, since so many head to the military. Silus is an exceptional marksman. He could probably even give Vakarian a run for his money so long as he was shooting at targets.

But living things were different. His mother was so thrilled that she'd taken him hunting. He'd had the animal in his sights. He remembers staring at it, and not being able to shoot it. The memories are vivid, clear as the day it happened. The way his fingers had trembled and his stomach had twisted. The way he'd felt queasy at the idea of hurting the animal. He doesn't remember what it was called, but he remembers how it looked, bathed in moonlight. He remembers seeing the vulnerable spot between its metallic plates, lining up the target, and freezing.

His mother had assured him it was alright. That he didn't have to be a soldier like her. That he could be an administrator like his father. He remembers staring at his feet during that conversation, feeling as though he'd failed her.

All of this runs through his mind as he listens to Garrus speak. He's lost in his thoughts, and doesn't notice what's being said until the words have trailed into silence.

"Silus?" Garrus is looking at him, and Silus realizes that he's supposed to answer something.

"I'm sorry, what?" Silus forces his mind back into the present. This isn't the time to let his mind get lost in the past. He needs to focus on this.

"Do you want the information I received?" Garrus is still neutral, still trying to keep his own feelings out of it. Though it's not hard for Silus to figure out what Garrus would do in his position. He knows Garrus would seek revenge. Knows that the other turian is a warrior, and he has the skills necessary for such an endeavor.

"I don't know." Silus says at last. He runs his hands over his face, a human gesture he's picked up. He really doesn't know. On the one hand, the idea of bringing his brother's killers to justice appeals to him. On the other, how is he any better than what Lurco became if he lets himself get pulled into this revenge? He's not a soldier. Not a warrior. Not equipped for this. He knows this, and yet... it appeals to him.

He lets out a long breath. Sets the datapad on the table, stands and looks at Garrus.

"Alright, let me see what you have. I'll at least look it over."

"If you're sure." Garrus says, his fingers still hesitating over the omnitool. He doesn't want to force this, and Silus appreciates it, but maybe it's time to be reckless. Maybe staring at monsters down the barrel of a gun will be different from staring at some animal he doesn't really want to kill. He doesn't know. He's never tried it. Maybe it's time.

"Yes." Silus breathes the word, and then Garrus' fingers are flying over the screen, and Silus hears his own omnitool receiving messages. He pulls up the information, transfers it to a datapad, and begins to read.

The night disappears in the blink of an eye.

Artificial dawn is rising on the presidium before Silus has finished sorting through the information. There's a lot here. Old case files on both his brother and members of his crime ring. Information on the ones who actually murdered him. More information on the one who called the hit. Silus isn't sure what to make of it. He knew a lot of this already, and it's not entirely surprising, and yet it's strange to see it from a different perspective.

He's known that his brother got in over his head for years now. Has known that Lurco thought he could climb the ranks, take over, live easy and have his minions do his bidding. He knows all this because his brother told him. But it's somehow different seeing it all spelled out in writing. It's different knowing that his brother is gone and the ones that killed him are still free.

They're out there, still alive. Still hurting others. And he has the power to put a stop to that if he just makes a move. Garrus is a soldier. Silus is just an administrator with a longing for vengeance and justice. He knows the two are not necessarily the same. But it's clear that justice has failed. That these men are still loose despite all of the evidence against them. That they must be buying their freedom with bribes.

He's torn.

He wants them to pay for what they did. For ending his brother's life before he could finish turning it around. But he knows he is not capable of pulling the trigger. He can't. He's not a soldier. Not like Garrus or... or Jane. He knows his Jane was incredible. It's why they made her a Spectre.

At that thought, the pain lances through him. He misses her. Down that path lies nothing but sadness, so Silus forces himself to focus on the present. On the very real choice that is sitting before him. Does he chase after the idea of revenge, or does he let it go?

He's uncertain.

He hears Garrus rifling around in the kitchen. It's a noise that has become familiar, the sounds of Garrus making breakfast and murmuring to himself. He hears the familiar clanking of dishes, the quiet noise of the appliances. He knows that Garrus will have set a place for him, will have prepared enough of whatever he is making to feed them both. They've become accustomed to this. It's comfortable.

Silus wonders if he and his brother could have had this. This... quiet companionship. He'll never know because of those bastards.

Somehow, that thought leads him to his decision. Later, he might wonder if he's crazy. Or he'll be certain that he has gone off the deep end. He can't know. He'll concern himself with that later. He's made his choice, and now it's time to act on it. Time to go find those bastards and wreak some vengeance for his brother.

He's not sure what he's going to do. Doesn't know how he's going to make them pay. But he'll find a way, and with Garrus at his side, he'll be unstoppable.

His decision made, he rises from his bed and sets aside the datapad.

Garrus is, as predicted, dishing up breakfast for them both when Silus enters the kitchen.

"Let's go get those bastards." Silus says. Garrus nods, his face unsurprised. Silus wonders if he expected this. If he had spent the night waiting for Silus to catch up with him.

He probably has.

That afternoon, they pack up their personal belongings, and leave for Omega.


	21. Chapter 21

Getting onto Omega is surprisingly simple.

The journey itself is fairly uneventful and passes calmly. Silus uses the day or so the jump and travel take to read through the dossiers once more, trying to be sure he's ready for this. Trying to convince himself that this is the right choice. He's never thought of avenging his brother, not seriously, and now that this opportunity lies before him, he's questioning it again. He's not a soldier. Never has been, never will be.

 _Garrus_  is a warrior. Jane was a warrior.

He pauses at the past tense, the familiar pain lancing through him at that thought. His fingers slide over the holo-display with their picture in it. He flicks it on, stares at her smiling face. She's so happy, so alive. Her death  _can't_  be real. He's still waiting for her to come back. To tell him it's all been some terrible joke.

It's a fool's dream, and he knows it.

He checks and double checks the messages he's received on his omnitool. One from their new landlord confirming their meeting place and time. One from Garrus' contact—the sender information has been stripped from it—telling him they'll be in touch with information on the current location of their targets once they arrive on Omega.

All the pieces are in place, and now it's just a matter of waiting.

The ship arrives at Omega precisely on time. Silus has time to look out the viewing port on their approach, and he's impressed with what he sees. It's a unique place, and he wonders if it could have ever been something  _better_  than this. He knows its history- an asteroid full of eezo turned into a mining camp turned into a lawless rock in the middle of nothing—and wonders about its future.

Before he knows it, the ship is docked and they're disembarking.

Their new landlord meets them near the docking bay and hands over a datapad with the pertinent information on their new apartment. He's a bulky human, ex-Alliance judging by the way he carries himself, and the tattoos that are visible on his skin. He's still well-muscled and well armed. Still, he's friendly enough, and greets them with a warning.

"The unit is on the edge near the warehouses. It's generally quiet out there, but recently the Blue Suns and the Talons have been competing for control of the territory and it's been… more dangerous than usual." He points out locations on a map, showing them the main strongholds of the various merc groups, and where their territories border each other. "When you can't avoid these areas, make sure you're armed."

"Why are you telling us this?" Silus asks, eyeing the map the landlord has given them.

"I try not to let my new tenants walk in blind." The man says with a laugh. "And besides, if you get yourselves killed, I have to find someone  _else_  crazy enough to move onto this rock."

They are quiet for a moment, taking in what the man has said. Silus wishes now that he'd talked to Garrus about his marksmanship. He wonders if it would have changed anything, or if they would still be here. He doesn't know, isn't sure it would have changed anything anyway. And he has to try. He's set himself to this. He wonders if Jane would be proud.

"Thank you for the information." Garrus says, breaking the silence.

"You're welcome." The man says with a small smirk. "And remember, if you see mercs coming, your best bet is to steer clear."

"We'll… take that into consideration." Garrus agrees. Silus hears in his subvocals that he's saying it just to placate their landlord.

Silus understands, but that doesn't mean he has to like the wicked glint he sees in Garrus' eyes. The other turian has been aching for a fight since they left the Citadel. Silus wonders if he'll be able to stop Garrus from going too far. He hopes he'll never have to find out. He's in over his head right now, and it's terrifying and exhilarating and he can't begin to describe the feelings this evokes in him.

"Take care." The landlord says, either not hearing or ignoring Garrus' reaction.

"You too." Silus says.

They part ways calmly. Silus and Garrus set out to find their new residence. The landlord heads off to take care of his own business, whatever that may be.

They're walking through the residential area, and are nearly at their apartment when Garrus freezes. Silus takes the cue, and looks to Garrus. The other turian gestures, and Silus follows the line of his fingers to see that a group of Vorcha have pinned an old human woman against a wall, and they are threatening her. Extortion, maybe. It's hard to tell from this distance.

What  _is_  clear though, is the fact that the woman is terrified and unarmed, and the Vorcha are dangerous.

Garrus gestures Silus into cover. He obeys, and draws his pistol, hoping he doesn't have to learn today whether he can use it. Garrus charges. The Vorcha never see him coming. One minute they're attacking their victim, the next they're sprawled on the ground, unconscious, and in some cases bloodied.

The woman stares at Garrus, slack jawed, before words of praise begin to rain from her lips. He's "an angel" and she cannot thank him enough. She's babbling, and Garrus is trying to soothe her. She tries to pay him for his help, and he's trying to refuse politely when Silus approaches.

"Ma'am," Silus greets her. "We're glad to have helped, but we're not in it for the credits. Really."

"Doesn't make sense. Everyone here is in it for credits." The woman says, eyeing them. Silus tries to smile. It's awkward, but he's fairly sure he's gotten his point across. She hesitates for a moment before continuing with a shrug. "I'll take it though. Thank you."

They watch as she walks away. Garrus waits until she's out of earshot before turning to Silus.

"I hate Omega."

"Me, too." Silus agrees. They haven't even been on the station a full hour and they've already seen how terrible the place can be. It's not a nice feeling. They continue to their new apartment in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you all for reading and commenting. It makes me smile every single time I get a response from my readers.


	22. Chapter 22

"Garrus, we need to talk." Silus says about a week after their arrival on Omega. He's been trying to work himself up to having this conversation for long enough now. It  _has_  to happen sometime, and he really can't put it off any longer. He knows all this, and yet he still hesitates.

"Hm?" The blue-painted turian is at the dining table, cleaning and calibrating his sniper rifle. He doesn't look up, but his movements slow as he listens to Silus.

"I've never shot anything living." Silus can't quite look, but he hears the movement at the table stop. "My mother took me hunting once, and I couldn't…"

"How old were you?" Garrus asks. His voice is steady, his subvocals calming.

"Fourteen," Silus says. He must sound more distressed than he realizes, because Garrus crosses the room and rests one hand upon his shoulder. He jumps, but it's comforting—as it is meant to be—and he relaxes under Garrus' touch. Silus launches into the story of the hunting trip, explaining how he hadn't been able to pull the trigger.

Garrus is silent—almost contemplative- as he speaks, and the silence continues for a few moments after he runs out of words. It's clear that Garrus is thinking about what he's said, and Silus has to work to not fill the gap with more, unnecessary words.

"Have you tried since?" Garrus is still speaking gently. "Things change. Circumstances effect what you're capable of doing."

"I haven't." Silus admits. Garrus nods.

Having someone to confide in like this is strange, and Silus can't help wondering if this is what it's like to have a brother. He and Lurco were never close—even as children—and that distance had only grown more pronounced with time. By the time they were adults they had almost nothing in common. He had seen other people with their siblings, people who  _liked_  their siblings, and he had wondered what that would have been like.

Garrus makes him wish he'd tried harder. If he had, maybe his brother would still be—no, that's nonsense and he knows it. He couldn't have changed anything, and what he wants to do now is make his brother's killers pay.

"Tomorrow," Garrus says, interrupting Silus' thoughts. "We're going to go see what you can do."

"What?" Silus sits up abruptly. He's in no way ready for something like that. "What does  _that_ mean?! I _can't_  go shoot people!" The panic is clear in his voice, and he knows his subvocals must be off the charts. He's off the couch and pacing the room as he speaks. "I can't do it, Garrus. I can't kill anyone."

"Silus," Garrus catches him by the shoulders, squares them up so they're looking eye-to-eye. "Trust me."

They lock gazes and stay that way for what feels like an eternity. And then Silus relents, sagging. Garrus is his friend, and wouldn't hurt him. He knows this. He doesn't like not knowing what they're going to do, but he knows Garrus.

"Alright."

That is the end of the conversation, and if they both spend the rest of the night thinking about it, neither of them mentions it to the other.

To Silus' relief, it turns out that Garrus' plans involve going to the shooting range and then heading to the food-storage level to do "pest control." It's simple, and Silus almost feels silly for how extreme his reaction had been the night before. He finds that it's easier to slip back into the pattern of aim-then-shoot than he expected, and it's almost soothing to relax into the target practice.

When they head down to the food-storage level, Garrus explains.

"They've been having trouble down here with pests recently. Eating and damaging the food stores." Garrus leads him into the maze of storage containers of varying types. They're labeled with planet-of-origin in many cases, though he doesn't immediately recognize all of them.

They're down there for the better part of an hour before Silus has had enough.

"Garrus, this is—" Silus begins saying that it's pointless when Garrus freezes, and points ahead. It's a small furry pest from the Human Earth, and it's not yet aware of them. Garrus gestures, and Silus knows that he's supposed to take the shot.

He lines it up. Tells himself that if he can get a clean shot, it's more merciful than the poisons the exterminators put out. More merciful than getting caught by a Vorcha—they like to  _play_  with their food—and he's really doing the rat a favor. His finger brushes the trigger, and he's positive he's lined up his shot right when the rodent freezes. It sniffs, and he wonders if it's scented him. He isn't expecting the scream that rends the air.

Garrus is up and gone in an instant, his pistol in his hand. Silus does the same.

They find a group of vorcha with an asari on the ground, screaming. They're ripping at her clothes, tearing her flesh, and Silus doesn't have time to think.

He hears the rapid report of bullets discharged from a pistol. Feels the recoil of the gun in his hand, but he's not thinking. The response is so fast that his brain hasn't caught up to what his body has done.

The vorcha lie upon the dirty ground in spreading pools of their own blood. Silus feels the urge to retch rising, and he barely manages to stagger away from the containers of food before his stomach begins emptying itself. It's a violent reaction of disgust, and when his stomach is empty he continues heaving for a moment.

He wipes his face, stands, and looks again.

Garrus is checking on the asari, speaking to her in hushed tones he can't quite pick up at this distance. The vorcha—there are three of them—are not moving, and he's nauseous just thinking of what he's done to them.  _He_  did that. And yet, as he looks at the asari—whom Garrus is now helping to her feet—he knows that what he has done is as close to the "right thing" as he could have managed.

Garrus leads the asari over to where Silus stands, still eyeing the corpses on the ground. The blue stranger smiles at him.

"Thank you," She says. "You saved me."

She continues speaking, and Silus tries to find comfort in her thanks as Garrus goes to check the bodies. Silus' attention is half on the asari, and half on Garrus as the other turian peers at the vorcha. Silus can't help wondering how he can be so calm.

The asari presses something into his palm, and he absently takes it from her. And then she's walking away, and he realizes that he has no idea what has just happened. He looks at what is left in his hand. An asari luck pendant. Just a little trinket, but he clenches his hand around it and stuffs it into a pocket.

Garrus rejoins him then.

"Clean shots." He comments, and Silus feels his stomach clench. "Let's get out of here."

Silus nods mutely, still trying to reconcile his actions with the violent consequences. Trying to justify it to himself. He can't. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to.

It takes several weeks, and a few more incidents before Silus learns to detach himself from his targets. He's learned to stop thinking of them as victims. Learned to stop thinking at all, in some cases. He's occasionally aware of Garrus peering at him, concern written across his features, but Silus turns away, unable to respond.

He's too aware of the faces of those he's killed. Of the thanks of those he's saved, and he wonders if in the end it's all worth it. It doesn't feel like it. But maybe it is. He doesn't know anymore. He's more lost now than he has ever been in his life, and part of him wishes he had someone to confide in.

He takes to speaking to Jane before he sleeps. A few words murmured into the darkness of his room before he drifts off. She doesn't respond, but that's alright. It makes him feel better to imagine her somewhere, thinking of him as he thinks of her. He misses her so much it's a physical pain.

By the end of the second week, they've picked up their first recruit. Lantar Sidonis. A pale turian who is eager to please. Friendly, deadly, and able to kill without retching. He's the partner that Garrus has needed all along; another soldier, someone who understands tactics and strategy. Silus appreciates the relief; now that Sidonis is around, he doesn't always have to tag along. And besides, Sidonis is funny, and good company.

Every few days they acquire someone new, until there is just over a dozen of them. Humans have a superstition about the number thirteen. Silus knows this, but doesn't have opportunity to wonder about it until much later, and by then it is too late.

Most days, Silus coordinates intel and functions as the hub of communication for the others. Sometimes, he has to go with them. He has learned to consciously pull the trigger, but he still cannot kill a living thing without retching. They try to spare him from it when they can, and Silus is only forced to participate when there is no other option. He appreciates that more than he can convey.

At the end of the third month on Omega, the mercenaries begin to work together. It's still not enough to roust them, and Silus knows it is only a matter of time before they try some other tack. Something they haven't attempted yet. Most of the mercenaries they encounter are mindless, and easily confused once their leader is taken out. They aren't used to thinking for themselves.

But the leaders of the various groups are smart, and have learned to adapt. They keep coming up with new strategies, and coming at them from new directions. He doesn't see the pattern until it's too late. Later, when it's all over, he might look back and wonder why he doesn't see it. But at the time, things are too confusing. He's trying too hard to disconnect from the reality of his situation. Trying too hard to survive, and become the warrior that Garrus needs him to be.

They walk into the trap easily. He and Garrus respond to Sidonis' call, and find... nothing. An empty warehouse. On the floor in the center lies a radio, broadcasting the sounds of... gunfire and screams.

"No..." Silus stares at the radio, comprehension dawning on him. "No..."

"Silus," Garrus silences the radio. He looks to his partner. "We need to get out of here."

"But—we need to help them."

"We can't help them if we're dead. We need to get  _out of here._ " Garrus grabs Silus by the arm and drags him out of the room. It feels like they go from the abandoned warehouse to their lair in the blink of an eye, but he knows that's not true. It takes time. Too much time, and when they get there, they're too late.

There's blood everywhere. Blue and red splatters. Silus forces himself to check the bodies. He finds his teammates—his  _friends_ \- along with the bodies of quite a few mercenaries. They put up a fight.

It doesn't take long to figure out that there are only ten bodies in the room. They gather their dead. Give them a final turian prayer, and check to see who is missing.

"Sidonis..." Garrus' voice is a low, guttural growl.

They hear something outside, and without further speaking, they make a run for it. A shot grazes Silus. His shields are more than enough for it, but it puts a bit of extra speed in his gait as he gets out of there. The next few days are a blur of fights and near misses and escapes. They sleep where they can. Run when they have to. Fight when they have no choice. It's a desperate bid for survival, and later, if they get out alive, he'll try to forget it all.

It's Garrus who brings them to the place where they're going to make their last stand. And it's Garrus—master strategist that he is—who explains to Silus what it is that they must do. It makes sense, and comes together so easily that it's nearly surprising when things begin to fall apart.

They're together up in the best vantage point in the building, keeping the bridge clear. Between waves they talk. Stupid nonsense about mistakes they've made in the past, things they wish they'd done differently. With each wave of mercenaries, and the ejection of each depleted thermal clip, their hopes of survival grow slimmer.

They take turns shooting: Garrus lines up a shot while Silus swaps out his thermal clip, his stomach roiling. They settle into a pattern, and while it's not precisely  _comfortable_ , it is functional, and they're keeping the mercenaries back.

Silus is catching his breath, taking a sip of precious water and snapping a new thermal clip into his gun when Garrus breaks their rhythm with a small noise.

"Well shit." Garrus' face betrays shock as he pulls back from his sights. "Our odds just got a lot better."


	23. Chapter 23

It wasn't  _her_  omnitool—that had been lost when she died—but it was  _an_  omnitool, and she now owned it. It was a model newer, and it took her a few moments to get used to the new interface. Still, it worked, and it allowed her to ping an old friend. And when the Shadow Broker responded, she found herself on the way to Omega.

_You're alive? I had heard but the source had been unreliable. G and S are on Omega. Hurry. Ask for Archangel. –L_

Shepard hadn't questioned Liara further. She had hurried to the asteroid. The dossiers that had been sent to her personal terminal had given her more information on one Aria T'Loak—queen of Omega—and some information about Archangel's most infamous kills. He was a vigilante. A "Robin Hood" of sorts, taking from the bad and giving back to the good. Helping the weak of Omega. He'd taken out a series of high profile targets, and had apparently angered the wrong leaders with a strike on a very specific series of gangsters.

Shepard read through the information on Archangel's kills as they sped to Omega. Pages and pages of information about crimes—suspected and confirmed—and known associates. There was an incredible amount of information to be had on each of the criminals Archangel had ended. The first high-profile hit had been involved in Silus' brothers' death; a salarian drug-lord who Lurco had been about to out. The second—hired krogan muscle—had also been involved. There was one more, a krogan who had—at least according to the reports—been at the center of the movement for the mercenaries to rally and oust Archangel once and for all.

Shepard had not lived this long by being stupid.

She put the pieces together, and by the end of it all was fairly certain that what she was walking into was almost certainly the last moments of the two most important turians in her life.

Omega was dingy and filthy, in both the literal sense, and the figurative, and as she met the inhabitants of the rock, she grew more and more certain of this fact. Per the information Liara had passed her, she headed to Afterlife. Once there, it was simple to find Aria T'Loak; she was perched above the club. As Shepard approached, she was greeted by a mercenary with a gun in her face.

"That's close enough," Aria said. Shepard paused, and glared at the asari. After a moment, with a gesture from the Queen, her mecenaries stood down.

"Stand still," a batarian said, pulling up his omnitool and running a scan. Shepard quirked a brow. Her guns were very clearly holstered on her back, her pistol obviously clenched in her fist.

"If you're looking for weapons, you're not doing a very good job," she informed him, showing him the pistol which she still held in her hand. He stared at her, his face completely blank.

"Can't be too careful with dead Spectres." Aria said from her perch. "That could be anyone wearing your face."

"I was told you're the person to talk to if I have questions," Shepard said, letting the batarian continue his scan.

"They're clean." The batarian informed Aria, before the asari answered. His eyes met Shepard's, the challenge clear there, but he stepped out of her way, allowing her access to Aria.

"Depends on the question," The asari said, turning to face Shepard. Her facial markings were interesting, nearly imitating eyebrows, but with additional flourishes along her jaws. She was attractive, but there was a coldness in her eyes that made Shepard assess her carefully, as she would a predator.

"You run Omega?" Shepard asked.

The blue woman laughed, that same arrogant coolness carrying over even into her expression of mirth.

"I  _am_  Omega." She said, gesturing grandly at the club beneath her. She turned back, looked at Shepard, calculation clear in her eyes. "But you need more. Everyone needs more something. And they all come to me. I'm the boss, CEO, queen if you're feeling dramatic. It doesn't matter. Omega has no titled ruler and only one rule."

There was a pause, a hesitation, carefully calculated for maximum drama as Aria sat as a queen on her throne. She caught Shepard's eyes. Enunciated clearly.

"Don't fuck with Aria."

There was a choice to make. She could laugh—an urge that, if Shepard were honest with herself, was tempting her more with each carefully calculated posture—or she could let Aria feel in control. It was the better option, especially when dealing with a person whose ego was so large.

"I like it. Easy to remember."

"If you forget, someone will remind you." That same arrogance, the coolness of command and her own self opinion. It was impressive, really. That lone asari running this entire damn rock with her attitude.

"And then I toss your sorry ass out the nearest airlock," the batarian said, his face daring her to give him the chance.

Shepard's lips quirked up into a smirk. Aria gestured for her to have a seat.

"So," Aria said, friendlier now that her posturing was complete. "What can I do for you?"

"One scan and we're straight to business? People are usually more concerned about who I am."

"Your death was downplayed, but hardly what I call a secret. I had to make sure it was really you. You could have been anyone. Anything." Aria looked at her sidelong. "Whatever you need will come out on its own. I'm curious, but Omega doesn't really care about you."

"Interesting." Shepard said, leaning forward. "I'm trying to track down Archangel."

"You, and half of Omega. You want him dead, too?" There was amusement in her voice, and a small quirk of her brow that had Shepard wondering what was facade and what was reality.

"Why's everyone after him?" She knew, of course, but she wondered about Aria's stance on the situation.

"He thinks he's fighting on the side of good. There is no good side to Omega." Aria said. Shepard had to agree, and she'd only been on this rock for an hour. "Everything he does pisses someone off. It's catching up to him."

"Just the kind of guy I'm looking for." Shepard resisted the urge to say that she was fairly certain he was  _the_  guy she was looking for (or one of them, really) because Aria didn't need to know that. Information had a price, and sometimes you paid the price to get it, and sometimes you paid the price by giving it.

"Really?" Aria said, that smirk tugging at her lips. "Well, aren't you interesting? You're going to make some enemies teaming up with Archangel. That's assuming you can get to him. He's in a bit of trouble right now."

"What kind of trouble?" Shepard kept her voice level, but her stomach was twisting itself into knots. If Garrus was in trouble, then Silus was in trouble. Or dead. She needed to get to them, but she needed information first.

"The local merc groups have joined forces to take him down. They've got him cornered, but it sounds like they're having trouble finishing him off. They've started hiring anybody with a gun to help them."

"Sounds like that might be my ticket in," Shepard said.

"They're using a private room for recruiting..." She gestured vaguely. "Just over there. I'm sure they'll sign you up."

"What can you tell me about Archangel?" Shepard asked, unable to resist finding out more about him and the situation.

"Not as much as I'd like. He showed up here several months ago and started causing all sorts of problems. If you make your own laws—which everyone here does—he makes life difficult. He's reckless and idealistic. But he seems to know enough to stay clear of me."

"Which merc groups are after Archangel?" Shepard asked, trying to keep her voice calm, knowing that she needed to play this as cool as Aria did. She couldn't reveal her investment in this situation. So she forced herself to sit back in the seat and cross her leg over her knee. Casual. Calm. Interested only because he was an asset. Not because her best friend and the man she loved were probably in mortal danger.

"Blue Suns. Eclipse. Blood Pack. They're Omega's major players. Unless they're at war, you'll never see them together. But one thing they hate more than each other is Archangel."

"Do  _you_  hate Archangel?" She hadn't meant to ask, but the question tumbled from Shepard's lips.

"I don't have time for hate. But I distrust them all equally." Aria sat back with a small shrug. "For now I'm happy to just let them kill each other."

"I appreciate the help," Shepard said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"See if you still feel that way when the mercs realize you're here to help him." Aria was amused. Shepard was clearly a new source of entertainment, and she was willing to see what would happen when the first human Spectre got involved in the situation. It was unlikely that she would warn anyone, since that would make things significantly less entertaining to watch.

"Maybe I'll come back later," Shepard said casually as she rose to leave.

"Maybe I'll be here." Aria said, gesturing her away with a wave of her hand.

The conversation had given Shepard a lot to think about, but she'd wasted enough time asking questions. Garrus and Silus were in danger, and she needed to help them. She couldn't sit idly by while they were killed. She just... couldn't.

So she went straight to the merc recruiter. It was simple enough to get in; she was clearly a mercenary or a soldier, and they didn't much care which she was so long as she had a gun. Aria had been right about that, at least.

"Well, aren't you sweet?" The Blue Suns batarian asked her, condescension dripping from his words. "You're in the wrong place, honey. Strippers' quarters are that way."

Shepard bit back a growl, and reached for her pistol, withdrawing it from its holster on her hip. In a heartbeat, it was pointed at his smug face, just long enough for the fear to register in his eyes. Then she pulled it back, and casually turned her wrist, allowing him to see that it was the finest credits could buy.

"Show me yours, tough guy. I bet mine's bigger." She quirked a brow, and stared at him, challenge clear in her eyes.

"Impressive," he said, and Shepard bit back a pithy response. "So you're here to fight, then?"

"Sure, if this is the place to go after Archangel." He didn't need to know that what she meant was entirely different from what he meant when one said 'go after Archangel,' and it didn't occur to him that she might.

He gave her his standard spiel, telling her that she wasn't a member of the Blue Suns, Eclipse or Bloodpack. That she was responsible for providing her own equipment, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. She was only listening halfway.

"Why are the mercs working together to take down Archangel?" She asked, wanting a bit more information on what her boys had been up to while she was away.

"Haven't been on Omega long, huh?" The batarian said, a small smirk on his face. The bastard. "He does everything he can to screw with us. Shipments go missing, operations are compromised... every month it gets worse. Tarak and the other bosses are tired of losing credits... and men."

"Seems like a lot of trouble for just one guy," she said.

"He had a whole team, but we've dealt with them. Now he's just one guy."

Shepard's gut twisted again. She swallowed down the wave of fear that threatened to claim her, instead focusing on the fact that Silus could still be with Garrus. They didn't even know _who_ Archangel was. They had no idea. It couldn't be... it wasn't possible... She didn't hear the rest of what he said.

He sent her on her way with some simple directions. Find her ride. Get to the base. Help them kill Archangel. He didn't know—he couldn't know—that what he was sending as 'support' was one very pissed off Spectre who was going to teach those mercenaries why they didn't mess with Shepard.

As she was leaving, a kid entered. He was young, stupid. Convinced of his own immortality. She recognized the signs, and without even a moment's hesitation, she stopped him. If she could save even one life, even a single person, then this would be worth it.

"You look a little young to be freelancing as a merc."

"I'm old enough," the kid insisted. "I grew up on Omega. I know how to use a gun."

"So does Archangel," she said.

"I can handle myself! Besides, I just spent 50 credits on this pistol, and I wanna use it!"

Shepard had heard enough. She grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him close, giving him her sternest look, the one she reserved for those under her command when they needed to be scared.

"Get your money back." She grabbed the pistol. Broke it. "Trust me, kid. You'll thank me later."

She didn't wait for him to respond. There were more important things to worry about; there was someone who needed her. Someone who might die if she didn't get there in time.

Someone who might already be dead.

The anxiety and fear made the next hour pass in a blur. She was on a transport. She was talking to mercs. She was freely wandering through their base, ensuring that she sabotaged everything she could. The mechs were reprogrammed. Cathka had been... dealt with. She almost felt bad for it. Almost. And then she remembered that he was trying to kill Garrus. And Silus. Or maybe they had already succeeded in killing one of them.

She didn't know. But she was going to find out.

And then she was on the bridge and the men around her were getting massacred. She felt one shot hit her shields. Just the one. And she knew that she'd been recognized. Then she was in the base, and her heart was in her throat and she was struggling to just focus on the task at hand.

She took down the other freelancers. One by one they fell, until she was the only one standing.

She hacked the door and prayed that both turians awaited her on the other side.


	24. Chapter 24

There is gunfire outside the door behind them, the one they locked to keep the enemies off their backs, and Silus is turning to respond, his pistol clenched in shaky fingers. He aims it at the door, attempting to convince himself that he's prepared to shoot whoever comes through. He doesn't believe himself for a moment, but that doesn't stop him from trying.

"No." Garrus says, not taking his eye away from his scope. "Put it down. It's a friend."

"Our friends are dead, Garrus." Silus says, his voice flat. What he really means is that _she_  is dead.

"No," Garrus replies, his voice once again carefully controlled. He pauses, takes a shot, then continues. "Not all of them."

By then the door is sliding open, and a human is standing there in full armor. Her helmet is tinted, so he can't see her face, but the insignia—N7—looks familiar. He still hasn't figured out why his heart has begun racing when her fingers find the clasp and tug it off.

And then he's falling to his knees and the world is spinning as he realizes that she's somehow come back from the dead. It's Jane.  _His_  Jane. She's grimy, blood spattered, sweaty. Her hair is mussed, her skin flushed from exertion, she's breathing hard, and she's still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Spirits." Silus gasps. "We're dead, aren't we? This is all some messed up afterlife, isn't it?"

"No," Jane's voice is low, rich, beautiful. She's smiling at him, and she's crying and crossing the distance between them. When her arms wrap around him, he begins to sob. "I'm here. I'm really here, love."

"Jane?" He manages with a rush of breath. He runs his fingers along her cheeks, feeling the moisture that is running down her face. Next he runs them through her hair, the silken red strands—admittedly a bit less silken than usual due to sweat—sliding over his fingers. She leans forward, presses her forehead to his.

"Silus," she whispers. "I love you."

"Jane," he breathes, his heart racing. "I love you, too."

She's soft and warm and  _real_  in his arms as she never is in his dreams. He always knows he's dreaming because he can't quite feel her. Can't quite smell that soft scent of her; that light floral body wash, the tang of gun oil, and that bit that can only be described as  _Jane_. He smells it now though, breathes deeply. She's truly here in his arms and he's so damn happy that he feels as though his chest might burst.

Jane kisses him, her lips ghosting along his mandibles, pressing to his mouth. And he's doing his best to kiss her back as his hands run along her body. She's well-armored, but all of her appears to be there and whole. Her hands are running along him, awkwardly brushing over the armor that he is still adjusting to. She pulls back, smiles at him, and he can see that she's just as happily overwhelmed as he is.

Garrus clears his throat behind them, drawing them back to the moment.

"I'm uh, sorry to interrupt but…" Garrus says, "We've got incoming."

Jane nuzzles against him once more before stepping back from him, her hands brushing along his mandibles regretfully. She puts her helmet back on, removes her pistol from where it's holstered at her waist. She's a soldier first, and he understands that, for all that he wants to hold her forever.

"I'll explain everything as soon as I can. You two stay safe. I'm going downstairs to keep it clear."

"Shepard," Garrus is looking at her, and for just a moment Silus sees a flash of something in his face. That is when Silus understands that Garrus loves her, too. It doesn't occur to him to be jealous, and he doesn't have time to evaluate that right now. "Be safe."

"You do the same, Vakarian." And then she's gone, out of the room, and down the stairs.

Silus withdraws his own pistol, and clenches it in nervous fingers. He tries to remember how to breathe, how to aim. How to do anything but stare in wonder after Jane.

"Go." Garrus says. "Watch her back. Make sure nobody flanks her. Stay upstairs, use the railing for cover." Silus doesn't argue. He understands the reasoning behind it, but even if he hadn't, Garrus has never led him wrong.

"Understood." He agrees. Heading out of the room at a crouch, positioning himself so he can see Jane and the stairs.

This is the day that Silus finds out that he can shoot anyone who threatens Jane. The day that he discovers that if her life is in peril, he doesn't think about it, he just reacts. Not many mercenaries make it past Garrus, even less make it past Jane, but the few that do, Silus takes down easily. There is no nausea, no anger or fear. He is cool, collected.

He has lost her once and he will not lose her again.

Jane is a graceful, deadly blur of motion. She alternates shooting and lashing out with her biotics, taking down enemies with a practiced ease. Beautiful. That's the word for it. She's a beautiful angel of death. He stops watching her—reluctantly—because he must, but as soon as he's dealt with each enemy, his eyes are back on her.

There is a pause. Just a moment to catch their breath. Jane is coming back up the stairs, and his stomach is fluttering nervously at her approach. She catches his hand, her fingers entwining with his, and leads him back into their perch.

"So." Jane says, her eyes on Garrus. "I don't think getting out will be as easy as getting in was."

"No, it won't. That bridge has saved our lives," Garrus agrees, shifting so he can see them. "by funneling all those witless idiots into scope. But it works both ways."

"They'll slaughter us if we try to go out that way," Silus says. Jane nods, and her hand squeezes his.

"Just waiting doesn't seem like a good option. Got any suggestions?"

"This place has held them off so far, and with the three of us..." Garrus says, "We can hold them a while longer."

"We'll watch for a crack in their defenses." Jane agrees with a nod.

In another situation, Silus might have been jealous at the way that Garrus and Jane were finishing each other's sentences, seemingly thinking the same things. But right now, it's the difference between them getting out alive and them dying in this trap. She seems to sense this, because she's looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and a small smile—just for him—is curving her lips.

There are speckles across the bridge of her nose. He remembers her explaining that they're freckles, and that she has them everywhere. He promises himself that once they get out of here, he's going to find each and every freckle and taste it. The thought of running his tongue along her body is enough to allow him to smile back at her.

"It's not a perfect plan, but it's  _a_  plan." Garrus says, seemingly oblivious to the moment they're having. He's looking through his scope, examining the mercenaries.

"Alright, let's get ready. They'll be here soon." Jane releases his hand and rolls her shoulders.

"I'll stay up here. I can do a lot of damage from this vantage point." Garrus turns to Jane, who has moved to stand beside him. "You... you can do what you do best. Just like old times, Shepard."

"Let's give these bastards everything we've got." Jane says.

Silus trails after her as she strides back downstairs and claims her position once more. This is much like the last attack, except instead of mercenaries its LOKI Mechs. Silus has no problem shooting them, keeping them away from Jane. He's holding cover, and she's pressing forward and his heart is in his throat as he watches them shoot at her.

Her shields blink out, and he's not sure what, precisely happens—it's all a blur- but the next thing he's aware of is that he's standing over her and the Mechs are all down. She rises. Touches him. He can't feel it through his armor, but he knows it's meant to reassure him.

"Heads up," Garrus says through the comm link. "They're deploying snipers."

"Fuck," Jane whispers. "I'm out of heat sinks."

There are some scattered on the ground near fallen mercenaries and mechs. Silus sees her eyeing them, and knows what she's thinking.

"Go. I'll cover you." He understands this principle. It's one of the first things they teach young turians in military training. Shoot at the enemies and keep them in cover while your partner goes out. It's not perfect, but done properly, it's generally effective enough. He does his best to keep calm, taking advantage of the fact that something about protecting Jane makes it easier for him to go after the lethal shots.

As she's scrambling back toward him, a crane brings out a YMIR Mech.

"That problem should take care of itself," She gasps to Silus as she dives back into cover beside him. She's breathing hard, bloodied from some shots that have gotten past her shields. He watches her apply medigel, one eye on the mech, which has surprisingly turned back toward the mercenaries.

It's turned on its owners.

He watches as it takes care of their problem. She reaches out with her biotics and pulls a salarian toward them. Garrus takes advantage of the moment to plant a bullet in him.

"Looks like that's all of them," Garrus says. "Come see me."

"Now what?" Silus asks.

They hear a distant explosion.

"They're breaching the basement." Silus says.

"I'll go take care of them. You two stay up here and keep each other alive."

"Are you sure?" Garrus asks. "I can keep the bridge clear, you may need the—"

"No." Jane interrupts. "I need to focus on the enemies down there. I need to know you're safe. Take care of each other. I'll be back soon."

"Be safe," Silus says, stealing a moment to touch her once more. She smiles at him, and he lets his fingers brush against her cheek. She leans into it for the span of a long breath. And then she's stepping back, and his hand is still hovering in the air, and he can still feel her warmth on his fingers.

"I will." Jane says, all business once more. She's moving, clipping a fresh heat sink into her assault rifle as she leaves.

"She'll be alright." Garrus says, and Silus isn't sure which of them he's trying to reassure. It doesn't matter

Silus nods, unable to form words. He's worried about her. She's a soldier—a damn good one—and she's come back to him after dying once. But... he can't go through that again. He's not strong enough. He clenches the pistol in his fist, tries to focus on the task at hand.

His motions are mechanical, his brain not on the battle. It probably should be, but it's not. Instead he's worrying about Jane. Where she is. What she's doing. He needs to know she's alright. He's so distracted by thoughts of her that he doesn't notice he's killing without hesitation, that he's not even thinking about the lives he's taking.

It feels like an eternity before she returns. When she does, she's once more bloodied, but she's alive, and Garm is dead. Things go quiet as the mercenaries once more scramble to regroup.

They're discussing their escape options, taking on the last few mercenaries and making their way out of there. Garrus opens his mouth to speak when the gunship appears again.

"Dammit! I thought I took that thing out already," he growls.

"They fixed, but not completely. I made sure of that." Jane says calmly, as she opens fire on the Blue Sun mercenaries.

It doesn't take long to take care of the mercenaries, but the gunship is still there, and it catches them by surprise. Silus is standing in its path when Garrus shoves him out of the way. He takes the brunt of the blast, and collapses to the ground.

"Garrus!" Jane shrieks. She finishes the gunship with a panicked burst of biotics, something she knows will hurt later.

Certain that they're safe for the moment, Jane hurries to his side, but Silus is there faster. Garrus reaches for him, gasping painfully. Then he loses consciousness. The blue pool of blood expands with each heartbeat, and Silus is desperately scrabbling to find something to staunch the blood flow.

"We're getting you out of here, Garrus. Just hold on," Jane whispers. "Joker, we need an extraction now. Prepare the med bay for an injured turian.

"Just hold on, Garrus. Hold on." There is an edge of panic in Jane's voice as she clings to Garrus.

A shuttle arrives, and a team of medics jump out. They're fluttering around the unconscious Garrus, lifting him onto a stretcher, and loading him onto the craft.

In the chaos Silus doesn't have time to ask what's going on. He just knows that he's got to stay with Jane, wherever that leads him.


	25. Chapter 25

Commander Jane Shepard was not a patient woman. Every moment spent waiting for news of Garrus stretched her nerves. She paced the loft, occasionally stopping, trying to sit beside Silus. It would last for a moment, and then she would inevitably fail and be off again, pacing circles around the room. She couldn't sit still, there was too much at stake.

"Jane?" Silus finally said, his voice—soft, gentle, and soothing—cut through the relative silence of the room. She paused, and turned to look at him. His face was a mask of worry, and it made her feel guilty for not noticing and taking care of him. "Please come here."

She hesitated for the barest moment, her guilt and anxiety battling her need to touch him. She went to sit with Silus at the foot of her bed. Jane might have intended to sit beside him, but it was clear Silus had other plans when he deftly caught her around her hips and tugged her over to sit in his lap.

"It's going to be alright, Jane." One large hand slid comfortingly along her back, the other cupped her cheek and turned her gently to face him. He caught her eyes with his. "It really will be."

She was reminded once again how beautiful his eyes were. How vibrant his green colony markings were. She leaned in, and curled up against him, getting as close as she could. He sighed and settled himself around her. He was warm, and though he was far from soft, he was comfortable. He'd divested himself of it and wrapped himself up in a robe—the only thing anyone on the ship could find that might fit him—sometime between their arrival on the ship and the time that Shepard had been sent to her room by Chakwas.

Jane had done something similar herself; she'd showered and scrubbed her skin nearly raw, then dressed herself in her softest and most worn clothing. They were quite the pair; him in someone else's robe, and her in a shirt so faded that any hint of Alliance Blue in it was little more than a memory.

They sat like that for a while; him on the bed, his arms wrapped around her waist. He anchored her, keeping her still, but he also provided her with the simple comfort of contact. She wasn't alone. She became more and more grateful for that as the evening wore on without word.

Minutes dragged on, each feeling like another eternity. But they were together at last, and that counted for something.

"Jane," he finally said, his face pressed against the tender skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "How did you survive?"

"I didn't," She felt him tense, his arms clenching around her. But she continued. "I died. Someone spent billions of credits resurrecting me."

"Who?" He voiced the question that had been haunting her all of these months. The question that she needed to find an answer to before she could truly continue with her life.

"I don't know." She sighed. "I was able to get some information, but the alliance confiscated most of it while I was in their custody."

"Oh," he nuzzled against her neck while he thought. He absently ran his fingers over the bare skin of her hip where there was a gap between her pants and shirt. "Well, you still smell like my-" he paused, frozen at what he clearly felt had been a gaffe.

"I still smell like your...?" She prompted, a small smile teasing her lips. She didn't quite look at him, not letting him see her amusement. She knew if he'd been human, his skin would have been crimson right then.

"Like my..." he still hesitated. She heard the nervousness in his voice. Nervousness and something else, something she couldn't quite name. On her hip, his fingers clenched, and he held himself unnaturally still as he continued. "You smell like my mate."

The words were said with a rush of air, as though escaping him only with great effort.

"That's because I  _am_  your mate," she confirmed, her hands finding his and drawing his arms tighter around her. There was another rush of air from him, and she had a moment's concern about whether he was going to pass out on her from all that weird breathing.

And then he brought his hand up to her cheek, and his fingers were sliding along her jaw, and his forehead was pressed to hers, and she was having her own breathing troubles.

"Jane," he murmured, his mandibles fluttering as he spoke, "I'm not sure you know what that means."

"Silus," she said, meeting his green eyes with her brown, "I've done my research. I know what it means to you."

There was a long silence, neither of them moved. She felt herself getting nervous, wondering if she had been too bold, or if she had misstepped somehow. His thumb slid along her cheek though, and his fingers curled to reach the nape of her neck.

"It means-" he began, before he was interrupted by the chime of a new message at her personal terminal.

"Silus-" she didn't know what she was going to say, whether she was going to apologize for rushing to her computer, or whether she was going to tell him it could wait. She didn't know, but he made the decision for her.

"Go," he said. "It's probably about Garrus."

Reluctantly, she disentangled herself from him and crossed the room. As she read, she sank into her chair, her eyes flying over the words in the message. Some of it was medical jargon, bits she couldn't really understand. She read it twice to be sure she had read it right. That hope hadn't caused her to misread. But it was all there, spelled out.

"He'll be alright," The words came out quickly as she sagged in relief. Tension she hadn't realized she'd been carrying slipped away as a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed her.

"Good," Silus said from just behind her. He'd crossed the room somehow as she'd focused on the message, and now he was close, so close.

With the knowledge that Garrus was alright, they could finally relax, and enjoy their reunion without the potential death of one of their closest friends hanging over their heads. With that knowledge had come the freedom to celebrate their continued lives. He was just behind her, so close that she could feel the heat from his body.

She turned, and looked up at him, a small smile curving her lips up as she caught the tie to his robe and tugged it. The fabric fell open, revealing an expanse of turian skin and plating that she'd only dreamed about.

Her eyes caught his, and the heat there made her breath catch.

Her hands skimmed along his abdomen, eliciting a shiver from him. She froze.

"I-" she hesitated, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and worrying it for a moment before continuing. "I know you didn't want to rush things but..."

"That was before I lost you," he said, his voice a rough rumble she could feel through her hands. "Now that you're back, I don't want to wait even one more minute." He shrugged the robe off, then leaned down and scooped her out of the chair as though she weighed nothing.

His long legs allowed him to cross the room in two strides, and then he was lowering her onto the bed. She held her arms up to him, inviting him into her embrace. He gave her a little turian smile, and then he was moving, his body shifting along hers, his plates just brushing against her.

He supported himself on one elbow beside her, his free hand skimmed along her torso, catching the hem of her shirt and dragging it up along her belly, exposing it to his view. He stared at the flesh he bared, the look on his face intent. It made her feel beautiful, to see him watch her like that.

He stopped just below her breasts, hesitant. That was when Jane decided to help him. She grabbed her shirt, and lifted herself up just enough to tug it off over her head. It fell to the floor beside the bed, as she sank back down. His hand slid along the edge of her bra—thankfully, a nice one instead of something ratty—and teased the tender skin beneath.

She began working at her belt, getting it and her pants unfastened and shoving them down her hips. Silus chuckled, leaning forward to slide his tongue along the exposed flesh of her breast. Jane's movements slowed as she was momentarily distracted by the act.

"Spirits," Silus leaned back, but his hand continued its slow exploration of her bare skin. "You taste better than I remembered."

"Oh?" Jane kicked her pants away, then rolled so she was facing him.

"Yes," His hand cupped her ass and drew her closer, until her body was snugly pressing against his, so she could feel the peaks and valleys of his body against hers, and the contrast of the hard scales and the smoother skin. He brought his mouth to the side of her neck, and she angled her head to give him better access. He nipped her in just the way she loved, and then licked the spot. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." She said. He'd been the goal she'd been fighting toward all those months, the reason she'd worked to keep living, the reason she had risked everything to get home. She had been stupid, she knew that, but being here with him meant it had all been worth it.

She ran her fingers along his fringe, reveling in the small noise he made in response. His mouth on her neck stilled, and she took advantage of his distraction to roll him over, so he was on his back, and she was sitting atop him. She leaned down, and nibbled on the side of his neck the way she remembered him liking.

He was breathing hard, nearly panting, and making noises that were just this side of audible to human ears. His hands fisted in the sheets, gripping the fabric as though for dear life.

"Silus," she murmured, nuzzling the side of his neck just below his fringe. "Tell me what you want."

"I-" he gasped as her teeth made contact with his skin once more. She kissed her way down from his neck, along the plating over his ribs, to the tender flesh near his waist. She slid along his body as she moved, enjoying the friction between them. "I want—" He didn't seem able to finish the thought, and any ability he had to form coherent sentences seemed to fly out the window as her tongue slid along the flesh at his waist. "Spirits!"

"You like that, hmm?" Her voice was little more than a purr as she repeated the motion, and his reaction was just as extreme. His hands made tight fists in the sheets.

"Yes," he groaned. She nipped at the narrow part of his waist, and he arched hard, nearly knocking her off the bed. She recovered with a small laugh.

She sat back, and looked at her turian, sprawled on her bed. He was breathing hard, his eyes half-shut as he watched her intently. At the juncture of his thighs, his pelvic plates had separated, and his erection stood tall. She reached out slowly, and let her fingers just brush along the hardened length. Silus bucked involuntarily and made another strangled noise.

"Hmm..." she hummed, bringing her mouth close and just blowing lightly on him. He shivered, and she smiled. She couldn't resist; she ran her tongue along his length, tasting him tentatively. He made another noise, and she laughed again.

"Jane," he managed. "What are-"

He lost his train of thought and his words abruptly cut off when she wrapped her lips around his penis and took him into her mouth. His body was unnaturally still as she bobbed her head, and when she drew back a bit to breathe, she heard him gasp as he started breathing once more.

"Spirits." The word was little more than a moan as she took him into her mouth once more. "You have to..." she swirled her tongue a bit, teasing him. "You have to stop or I'm going to—"

"I hear turians have remarkable stamina..." she said, angling herself so she could see his face from where she knelt between his thighs. "And that you'd only need a few minutes to recover..." She caught his eyes, smiled, and licked her lips. "But if you're sure that's what you want..."

"I don't know." He admitted, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. "I'm new at this."

"I know," she said, moving so she was above him, her hands resting on the bed on either side of his head. "I'm new at this, too. What matters is that we enjoy this... experience together."

She wiggled her hips, rubbing herself against him through her panties, and his breath hitched once more.

"Agreed." He said, his hands catching her hips, then sliding up to her waist. His hands rested there for a moment, then he began to move, reaching up and around behind her to unfasten her bra. Or try to, really. He fumbled with it for a moment before growling in frustration.

"Let me," she said, sitting back and reaching behind herself with the ease of practice to unfasten it. She caught the cups with one arm and held it there as she slid the straps off. He watched hungrily as she performed her mini strip-tease, slowly sliding the lace-embellished fabric down and away.

His hands rested on her waist once more, his thumbs gently stroking her belly for a moment. And then he was sliding his hands along her body once more, and he was cupping her breasts, and his thumbs were circling her nipples and she was making small gasping noises with each panting breath.

"You like that, hmm?" He asked, a gently teasing echo of her earlier words.

"Yes," she breathed, leaning forward once more so he could reach more easily. What he did next, she hadn't expected. He pulled her a little further down, and brought his tongue to her nipple, flicking it and earning a small noise of pleasure from her. He repeated the motion on her other breast, his thumbs teasing the breast his tongue wasn't playing with.

She felt his hips move beneath her, felt his erection rubbing against her through her panties. She wondered for all of a moment how much research he'd done, and then he was nibbling on her nipple gently, and she was making small mewling noises of pleasure, and there was no time to think about things like that.

"Please," she whispered. She  _ached_  with the need to have him inside her.

"Please?" he rolled them over, so he was above her, pressing himself against her and making her gasp.

"I need you." She managed. He smiled, and moved back just enough to press her thighs together and tug her panties down her legs. They were tossed aside, and it didn't matter to either of them where they landed. What mattered was that there were no more barriers between their bodies.

He parted her thighs once more, the look on his face unreadable as he let his gaze rake over her. He reached out slowly, his fingers sliding easily between her moist folds and stroking her. His face intently watched her as he brushed against her clit, and when she made a sound of pleasure, his smile returned. He focused his attentions, circling and stroking the sensitive bud, clearly enjoying the way she writhed beneath him on the bed.

Carefully, he slid one finger into her, his thumb still stroking her clit. That was what it took to send her over the edge, gasping and clenching around him as she orgasmed.

"That was..." he didn't seem to have the words to describe how he felt, but he leaned down and brought his lips to hers. They kissed, and Jane allowed herself to enjoy the intimacy that she had been dreaming about for so long.

"More," she whispered, snaking her hand between them and lining his penis up with her entrance. "Please."

"Alright," he said, pressing forward in a swift motion that made them both gasp. It didn't take long for instinct to kick in, and fairly soon, Silus was thrusting into Jane at a fast pace. For her part, she did her best to move in time with him, flexing her hips and raising herself to meet him. Their breathing sped up with exertion and pleasure.

Silus let out something akin to a roar and his hips bucked convulsively into her as he climaxed.

He stilled, then brought his head down, let his forehead rest against hers as they caught their breath together. When their breathing had returned to nearly normal, he rolled, coming to rest on his side next to her. She scooted over and snuggled up against him.

Exhausted from the emotional turmoil and physical exertion, they drifted to sleep together.


End file.
